His brother dismounted and quickly closed the distance between them. “Alexander.”
“John.”
“Ye’re here.”
In truth, nothing could have kept Alex away. He relished the idea of seeing his brother fail. A man couldna pray for better revenge. He ripped a leather coin purse from his weapon belt and tossed it on the ground at his brother’s feet.
“This will pay for the extra swords ye need to protect our sire’s holdings.”
John sucked in a ragged breath and shook his head. “My lands.”
“Call it whatever ye will. I’ve done my duty. If ye canna manage to hire mercenaries to defeat yer enemy, then ye don’t deserve to be laird.”
Alex turned back to the water, ready to return to his ship.
“Wait,” his brother called. “Ye came all this way just to give me money?”
“No.” Alex wheeled around. “I traveled halfway around the world to gaze upon ye a last time.”
John’s lips drew together. “Why?”
“To see if yer sins have finally caught up with ye.”
“That isna an acceptable answer.”
“It will have to suffice.” Alex was a respected warrior in the exotic lands where he’d carved an existence out with blood, sweat, and some bitter tears. Even the sultans dinna ask for explanations. So Alex would provide none here.
“Ye’ve been gone five years.”
Alex studied his brother’s features. The breeze lifted his sandy-colored hair, revealing a long scar along his right jaw. His eyes were creased in the corners and dull. He’d aged hard, which told Alex he’d suffered. “My curiosity is satisfied.”
“Dinna speak in riddles.”
“Riddles?” he repeated, sounding angrier than he’d intended. “Do I need to spell it out for ye?’
“She’s not here.”
Bloody bastard dared resurrect that old memory? “Who?” Alex pretended not to know.
“Keely.”
Time had dulled the pain, relegating her countenance to the occasional nightmare. But the mere mention of her name burned a new hole in his soul. “I doona care.” But he did—too much for a man who’d been away so long.
John smirked, acting as if he’d seized the power in their conversation. “Ye’re a bad liar.”
“Am I?” Alex surged closer, standing a head taller than John. The temptation to beat him senseless nearly won the day. “Ye are the worst sort of thief, brother.” There was no love in that designation, no loyalty for his own sibling. Only rage and hatred. Alex touched his sword. In the heat of battle in the desert, he’d often pictured his brother’s face as he cut down an enemy. It served a purpose—making him more lethal than most—able to kill a man without caring for who or what he was.
John’s shoulders drooped. “She spoke her vows before God but ran away the same night. Before we consummated our marriage.”
The news did little to ease the hostility swirling inside Alex. His time away had altered his view. The only man he trusted was himself. It kept him alive and made it easier to wake up every day. Men with deeply rooted feelings–a weak man of conscience like John–would have withered and blown away in the desert winds a long time ago. “Good luck,” Alex murmured as he turned his back.
“Shame follows ye,” John yelled. “Father would roll over in his grave if he knew ye abandoned yer family again.”
Though his brother’s words reached his ears, nothing touched the black depths of Alex’s soul. Numbness ruled him. He must never relinquish the tight control he exercised over his heart. And since he’d grown fond of the silver and gold the eastern princes paid him for protecting their fortresses, he had every intention of returning to foreign shores.
The sound of thundering hooves made Alex stop. Against his better judgment, he looked over his shoulder. A dozen warriors had arrived. He cursed as he backtracked, getting close enough to overhear what they discussed.
“Come now, milord,” one said. “There’s no time to spare.”
“How bad is it?” John asked as he climbed into the saddle, looking more haggard by the second.
“The west village is burning. Many have been killed, I’m afraid.”
“The women and children?”
“The Sutherland pigs gave no quarter, milord.”
The words Sutherland pigs stirred something inside Alex. Memories from his childhood flashed before his eyes—the smell of burning wood, the cries of helpless women seeking their missing children. He’d witnessed Sutherland barbarism too many times as a youth, unable to stand against his enemies because he was too young. Overcome by something powerful, the target of Alex’s rage shifted suddenly.
Even the legendary warrior Achilles possessed a weakness. So did Alex. Knowing innocent women and children had been slaughtered lit his blood on fire. John dinna matter. The betrayal of a woman dinna matter. Only the right to live in peace did. And those crofters—people who had served his grandfather and father—deserved his protection.
“What is it, Alex?” John called from his restless steed. “Did Father’s ghost whisper in yer ear?”
Alex gazed into his brother’s eyes. There was no passion, no thirst for blood vengeance, only a tired man who had been pushed too hard for too long. Perhaps John had missed his calling as a priest, for that’s what Alex saw in his elder brother—a man of the cloth, not a man of war. “If Father had anything to say to me, Brother, he wouldna whisper, he’d scream it from the highest peak.”
John’s warhorse circled him, lifting its front hooves. “There is no time to argue, Alex. Make yer choice. Join us or be on yer way.”
Alex unsheathed his curved sword, a gift from one of the princes he’d saved. “MacAoidh,” he cried out, identifying himself as a MacKay. The clan motto followed. “Bi tren…” Be true, be valiant.
Chapter Two
“Why am I weeping?” Keely dismounted, pausing to take in the view of the valley below. She hadn’t crossed a MacKay border since her wedding night, abandoning the husband she never wanted, the new laird, John Mackay.
She didn’t blame her past on anyone but herself. But after five years of hiding behind the walls of Dunrobin Castle, relying on the charity of the Sutherlands, she’d finally decided to face her past. To seek forgiveness, first from her husband’s family, and then her own.
Whether they’d welcome her remained a mystery, for she’d sought sanctuary with the enemy. Which raised the next concern. What name should she use? Keely MacKay, or her father’s name, Oliphant? Surely she had no legal claim on the MacKays, for she’d never consummated her ill-fated marriage. Not in the flesh, anyway. However, she had taken vows in the kirk, before her own family, Clan MacKay, and God.
In order to move on with her life, to free herself from the burden of endless guilt, she must attain absolution. Twould be the only way she could show her face in public again.
“Come, Meara.” She patted her mare’s head affectionately, taking the reins and leading her down the hillside.
The well-worn sheep path would eventually take her to the west village, where the shepherds lived with their families. She missed the bleating of the ewes and lambs, having always been welcomed there.
In the Sutherland keep, she was expected to conduct herself as a lady at all times. There’d been no barefoot walks in the pastures or nighttime swims in the loch. Only sewing and weaving, the occasional ride, and perhaps a bit of music if the laird was in the mood for entertainment. Sutherland women were coddled and kept from the outside world. Unfortunately for Keely, she’d already tasted the sweetness of freedom for too long, so her time there had felt more like a prison sentence.
It had taken many nights of hard riding to evade the Sutherland guards. Keely planned her escape carefully over time, hiding food and clothing in the stables whenever she went riding.
Now, excited to see her friends again, she rode the last couple of miles to the village. What greeted her shocked and saddened her. All that remained of the pleasan
t cottages were smoldering wood frames and ash.
She slid off her mare and rushed to the closest burned out hut, calling for the women she knew. “Elizabeth? Suzanne? Tara?”
No one answered.
She searched cottage after cottage, hoping to find someone. But everything had been destroyed.
There were no bodies. No signs of violence. Perhaps a cooking fire had been left unattended? Or one of the children accidently set the fire? Regardless of the cause, her heart ached for her friends. A strange feeling settled over her then. For some reason, she could feel the pain and suffering that had happened, and she dropped to her knees and prayed fervently. “Dear God … have mercy on these poor people. On the MacKays. Let whoever did this face holy justice.”
“Justice?” a man’s voice sounded from behind her. “Ye seek justice in the wrong place, lass. Ye’ll find only death and sorrow.”
Startled, Keely rose to her feet and found a guard on horseback. “Where are the people?”
He stared at her for a long moment before he spoke again. “Are ye a kinswoman? Did yer ma and da live here?”
She shook her head. “I am a friend. Gone for longer than I ever should’ve been.”
“Tis a bad time to visit, lass. Go home. Violence awaits anyone who comes here.”
“Who did this?” she asked.
“Ye ask too many questions. Tell me yer name, lass.” He dismounted.
“Keely…” What name should she use? Though she didn’t recognize the warrior, he wore the MacKay tartan.
“Yer da’s name?”
“I’m Keely … MacKay.”
“The lass who left our laird on his wedding night?”
“Aye,” she admitted. “The very woman.”
He frowned, studying her. “Ye’ve heard the news, then?”
“What news?”
“Ye better come with me, lass. It isna safe here.”
She hesitated, not wanting to go anywhere with anyone she didn’t know and trust. “Who torched the village? Where are the tenants? The animals?”
The guard ignored her questions and retrieved her mare. “Climb up. The answers ye seek will come from the MacKay himself.”
“I am more than capable of finding my own way.”
“I willna leave a helpless woman here. Especially a MacKay. I have orders and intend to carry them out.” He gestured for Keely to mount.
Living with the Earl of Sutherland had taught her many things. The most important lesson was: once ye cede control, the chance of ever recovering yer independence may never come. On the other hand, she wanted to see her estranged husband. What difference did it make if she arrived with an armed escort or by herself? She sized up the guard, knowing she’d lose the wrestling match if she tried to escape.
“I will accompany ye.” She climbed atop her mare. “What is yer name?”
“Andrew,” he said, guiding her horse to a spot next to his. “Ye willna protest if I keep yer sweet mare close, will ye?”
A kind way of saying she had no choice. Keely was now in the custody of the MacKays.
Many people watched with curiosity as they entered the inner courtyard of the keep. Before Keely had fled this place, she’d lived amongst the MacKays for over a year. Twas no surprise she recognized several of the women and their now quite grown up children. To say she didn’t feel embarrassed and hurt when several turned their backs on her would be dishonest.
She’d expected a cold reception, had even prepared for it, or so she thought.
When the word “traitor” filled the air around her, coming from a single voice first, then growing into a chant, she lifted her hood to cover her face. If they only knew the truth of it, they’d thank her for leaving.
Once a squire took their horses, Andrew escorted her to the great hall. For the time of day, an unusually large number of people were gathered inside. The laird’s high table was occupied by what Keely assumed were his captains. The lower benches were also filled with men and some women.
“What is happening?” she whispered to Andrew.
He shushed her. “Listen and learn.”
“We canna wait any longer to launch a counter attack,” a bearded man at the high table said, pounding his fist on the table for emphasis. “Didn’t the good Lord demand an eye for an eye? Well, I propose two Sutherlands for every MacKay that died.”
“Bloody cowards,” someone yelled from the lower ranks.
“Murdering women and children…” a woman added. “My sons are gone. I canna find my husband.”
Sutherlands? What little news from the outside world had reached her ears while in residence at Dunrobin, surely, she would have known if her host was at war with the MacKays. Servants had loose tongues.
“My daughters have been kidnapped.” An older woman stood up. “Both of marriageable age, both lovelier than any lasses a Sutherland devil could buy.”
The crowd responded loudly, and Keely couldn’t keep track of the many conversations going on around her.
“Where is the laird?” she questioned Andrew again. “Shouldn’t he be here?”
The answer came when Andrew pulled her aside to make room for the retinue of tartan-clad men to pass by. At first glance, Keely thought John was at the front of the line. But once the light-haired man took the laird’s chair at the high table, she realized her mistake.
Though Alexander Joseph MacKay favored his elder brother in many ways, his strong jaw and sharp eyes were unmistakable, even at a distance. She sucked in a shaky breath, her body quaking with fear—even the generous sized hall didn’t seem a big enough space for her to share with Alex. The gray stone walls were beginning to close in all around her. She struggled to stay focused.
“What is it?” Andrew gripped her arm. “Ye’re as white as an egg.”
“Am I seeing a ghost?” she asked. “Or is that…”
“Settle down,” Alex’s deep voice penetrated the room. “Speculation willna bring back our kinsmen.” He motioned for everyone to sit. Once the room quieted, he continued. “We’ve captured a half dozen Sutherland warriors. There is no mistaking their clan. But proving a direct link to the earl would be impossible.”
“And how did ye reach such a conclusion?” someone asked.
“Logic,” Alex offered.
“Logic? Ye’ve spent too much time with the philosophers in Rome,” the man shot back, obviously unconvinced.
Keely heard the men around her snicker.
“True,” Alex agreed. “But I’ve also learned to study my enemy’s motives before rushing to judgment. What would the Earl of Sutherland gain from this attack?”
“Satisfaction,” the man at the lower table offered.
“A plausible answer,” Alex said. “But wouldn’t he risk too much by acting so carelessly without cause?”
“The Battle of Druim na coub is reason enough. The bastards have waited to avenge their clansmen.”
Alex stood and walked around the high table, then stepped off the dais. He approached the man he was speaking to. “Do ye no think I wish the reason were so obvious? Twould be a gift from God to have a justifiable grievance to march outside, climb on my war horse, and ride to Dunrobin at the head of our army—and take back the honor the Sutherlands have stolen from us. Answers to hard questions are rarely found in the open.”
“I can name three…”
“I’m listening,” Alex said.
“Neil MacKay, Morgan MacKay, and Angus Murray.”
Keely knew MacKay clan history well, for her father, Laird Oliphant, had pledged dozens of his own warriors to help defend the former MacKay chieftain from the attack perpetuated by his own cousins thirty-two years ago.
“The Earl of Sutherland dinna ride at the head of his army,” Alex pointed out. “He simply took advantage of a situation—pledging some silver and warriors to help stir the shite pot. What better way to defeat an enemy? The eastern princes say the enemy of my enemy is my friend, so long as it serves their purpose. The earl wanted th
e MacKays to destroy themselves.”
The room grew eerily quiet.
Keely tried to contain her emotions. But the longer she gazed upon the man she once deeply loved, and the more she heard about the burned village, the more she couldn’t stay silent. For she’d lived with the Sutherlands. And if she could aid Alex in any way, to help make up for the pain she caused him by marrying his brother John, she’d do it, no matter the cost.
“Alexander!” She stepped away from Andrew, hoping she’d called his name loud enough for him to hear.
Stormy green eyes met hers. The effect of her presence on Alex became immediately obvious. He squared his shoulders and puffed out his muscular chest.
“Alexander MacKay,” she said again, pushing her way to the front of the hall, Andrew at her heels.
His features were stone cold. His lips curled in anger. “Hugh. Bruce. It seems the enemy has penetrated our defenses. Take this woman to a holding cell.”
Keely’s mouth dropped open in utter shock as her escort, Andrew, latched onto her right arm from behind.
“I begged ye to be still, lass,” he whispered. “Tis a bad time to remind the laird’s brother of the past. Now I canna help ye.”
She turned halfway, able to see Andrew’s face. “And why would ye help me?”
He shrugged. “A lass in need deserves whatever help I can give.”
Unsure of his motive, she frowned at him before she whipped around to look at Alex again. He’d only grown more handsome and ruthless, hardened by the life he’d chosen. Or the life she’d forced him into—if she was being completely honest. No Scotsman voluntarily left the Highlands. He must have cause. And she’d given Alex MacKay an endless number of reasons to seek refuge on the other side of the world.
Two red-headed warriors appeared in front of her, the smell of ale and male sweat permeating off their bulky bodies.
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