The Highland Dynasty: The Complete Series

by Amy Jarecki

  The back of Helen’s neck prickled. It shamed her to think about the incident with Eoin in the shed. I never should have allowed him to kiss me. Even after a day, her lips still tingled…her senses still filled with his woodsy scent.

  Helen instinctively cradled Maggie tighter to her breast. Aleck had struck her three times now. There was no longer any doubt his animosity toward her was growing worse. She touched the bruise on her jaw, still tender from his slap. What if he took out his anger on their daughter? He’d already said he’d use Maggie to foster an alliance—garner more lands for himself. Of course that was the way of things…but could Helen trust Aleck to act in their child’s best interest rather than his own?

  Deep down, she knew the answer to her questions. And that realization tied her stomach in knots.

  The ram’s horn sounded. Helen held her breath as her gaze shot to Sarah.

  It sounded twice more.

  “Dear Lord, no.” She sprung from the rocker and carried Maggie to the window. A lead ball sank to the pit of her stomach. Two galleys rounded the point of Ardnamurchan.

  Sarah stepped in behind her. “Are those MacDonald ships?”

  “I’ve no reason to think they’re not.” Helen turned. “Take Maggie and bolt the door behind me. Do not open it for a soul until I return.”

  “They’re aiming to attack?”

  Helen grasped her skirts and headed toward the door. “They burnt out the Gilles’s croft in Sunart. Why should they be sailing to Mingary on a goodwill sortie?”

  Sarah drew in a sharp gasp. “Lord Jesus, help us.”

  Before opening the door, Helen faced the nursemaid. “I am leaving my daughter in your care. She is the one person in this world I love most. Protect her with your life.” Blinking to recover her wits, Helen raced for the top of the battlements.

  With only a skeleton crew of aged fighting men, this would be a harrowing day indeed. Regardless of the odds, she would defend Mingary and fight until she drew her last breath. May God have mercy on our souls.

  Atop the wall-walk facing the sea, Helen stared at the black cannon Aleck had brought in from Portugal. It was an ugly thing that looked like death. She glanced at Mr. Keith, the old guard who’d been left in charge of safeguarding the castle. “Do you know how this contraption works?”

  “I’ve had a bit of training with it. ’Tis not too hard. You ladle in the black powder, tamp it down, then drop in the ball and set your sights, light the slow match and pray.”

  Helen definitely would hold up her end with praying. “Do you have enough of those lead balls to sink both the MacDonald galleys?”

  He gazed out to sea and shuddered. “God, I hope so.”

  The galleys had sailed close enough that she could see the colors of their pennants. MacDonald for certain.

  Mr. Keith pointed toward the stairwell. “You’d best go inside, m’lady.”

  Helen crossed her arms. “I will do no such thing. In the absence of Sir Aleck, I shall direct this battle, and pray it does not turn into a siege.” Where in Heaven’s name are the men? Aleck left me here alone with a handful of old guards and had the gall to call me daft? I shall never forgive him for this.

  Archers approached carrying barrels of arrows. Helen dashed toward them. “Have you lit the brazier?”

  “You want us to fire flaming arrows?” Torquil asked as if she’d sailed down from the moon.

  “Aye.” She held up a finger. “Let them make the first move. If they’re hostile, we shall show no mercy, and flaming arrows will set their boats afire. My father always said the most dangerous thing for a galley ship is a fire.” Thank heavens she’d listened to Da’s tales of fighting in The Crusades.

  Every muscle in her body clenched while she marched back and forth atop the wall-walk, watching the MacDonalds sail nearer. Never in her life had a sailing ship appeared to take such a long time with its approach. Jitters twitched along her skin.

  The men set two braziers burning with peat—one on either side of the sea-facing wall.

  Mr. Keith grasped Helen’s arm. “I mean it. You must go inside, m’lady. They’ll be firing arrows soon and you haven’t even a hauberk or a helmet.”

  Nor did she have a cloak—and an icy gale blew relentlessly from the sea. “I’ll not leave.”

  “Then at least seek shelter behind a merlon.”

  The MacDonald galleys were now near enough she could see the warriors lined on one side with bows and arrows ready to fire. She ducked behind the safety of the stone and raised her arm. “They’re preparing to fire. Light your arrows!”

  The men stared as if they’d never been in a battle before—or perhaps they’d never been commanded by a woman before.

  Sucking in a stuttering breath, she peeked beyond the stone and out to sea. Arrows soared toward them. “Now!” she screamed, covering her eyes.

  “In coming!” someone yelled from down the wall-walk.

  The men all ducked behind the safety of the four-foot stone walls as arrows hissed overhead and smacked against the stone battlements. Helen dared look. No one had fallen. “Fire!” she shrieked.

  She peered around the stone merlon and watched the MacIain arrows fly. Some hit the nearest ship, but they’d need more. Clenching her fists, she mustered her strength. “The only way to keep them at bay is to beat them. We have the power to hold them off, but every single man on this wall must shoot straight and hit your mark!”

  The men reloaded their bows with trembling hands.

  Helen bolstered her resolve. Cowering behind the stone wall was no place for a woman who must instill confidence in her soldiers. Keeping her head down, she hastened around to the back side of the cannon. “Set your sights Mr. Keith, and sink those two galleys.” She marched down the row of elderly men, now firing their arrows at will. “They think they can attack Mingary? I assure you, it will take a great deal more than two galleys filled with fighting men to conquer us. We have five-foot thick walls and a grand gun from Portugal on our side.”

  The cannon boomed. Helen jumped so high, she nearly fell off the wall-walk. She coughed at the acrid smoke burning her throat. And while the haze cleared, her ears took on a high-pitched hum. She peered through a crenel notch and strained until she could again see the galleys. Curses, the cannonball missed its mark, but flames leapt above the hull on one of the galleys.

  Helen’s heart skipped a beat.

  They’d made their first gain.

  She raced toward Mr. Keith. “Can you make an adjustment and actually hit one of those galleys?” The words rattled from her tongue in an anxious high pitch.

  “That’s what I’m trying to accomplish.” Sweat dripped from his brow as he turned the crank. “I cannot believe I actually got the blasted thing to fire.”

  She gave a sharp nod. “You’re doing well. But we must stop them from reaching the sea gate.”

  Baring his teeth, he strained with one more crank. “Stand back, m’lady.”

  She stared at the long black gun as if it were about to explode and take down the wall. The thing nearly killed her when she strolled on the beach. Would it now be her salvation? ’Tis time to make the gun worth its while.

  At the chilling sound of a man’s anguished shriek, Helen whipped around. “Oh, no.” She sprinted to the far end of the wall-walk. Torquil lay writhing on the stony floor, gasping and grunting from an arrow shot to the shoulder.

  Helen dropped to her knees beside him. “Hold on and we’ll set you to rights.” She glanced over her shoulder. Every able-bodied man was needed to defend the keep from the pillagers below. And she knew better than to try to pull the arrow out now—but there must be a way to help him endure the pain. “Have you any whisky?”

  “I-I-I’ve a flask in me sporran,” he managed through panting breaths.

  Finding it, she held the spirit to his lips. “Drink it all.”

  He guzzled greedily.

  “They’re coming ashore, m’lady,” Mr. Keith hollered.

  She stoppered
the flask and set it beside him. “Hold on, sir. We’ll see to your comfort as soon as we are able.”

  Torquil’s weathered face ashen, he nodded.

  Helen picked up the man’s bow and ignited an arrow tip. The MacDonald men were jumping over the side of their galleys and splashing through the water toward the sea gate. A row of men carried a pole as thick as a tree trunk—a battering ram for certain. Heaven help us, they aim to smash through the gate.

  She trained an arrow straight down on a man. She’d hunted deer and rabbits, though had never killed a human being—but these men were attacking her home. Holding her breath, she released. Her arrow fell short. She must raise her sights to account for the distance.

  She pulled a second arrow from the barrel and lit the tip.

  The cannon boomed.

  This time Helen didn’t flinch. With the ringing in her ears intensifying, she focused on another MacDonald raider and let her arrow fly. Smoke and the stench of burning sulfur stung her eyes as she lined up her sights. She hit her mark and the man fell to the ground, writhing and clutching at the arrow.

  Her insides squelched like she was about to vomit.

  Ahead, the whistling cannonball smashed the stern of a MacDonald galley—though it wasn’t enough to sink the boat, Mr. Keith had done some damage.

  But there was no time to celebrate. The battering ram boomed as it slammed against the sea gate. The bailey walls shook. Stones crumbled. It was a matter of time before the MacDonalds breached the walls.

  Nonetheless, Helen and her crew of grey-haired warriors fought while the cannon blasted and the battering ram blow thudded, cracking timbers with each strike.

  Helen fired arrows until her fingertips grew raw from the bowstring. Beyond the sea gate, the MacDonald men were chanting a cadence of heave-ho with every thundering impact from the battering ram.

  Unable to find a clear shot, Helen closed her eyes and prayed. Dear God in heaven, please save us. Her eyes flew open when a bellowing roar erupted from the courtyard.

  Eoin and the men poured in from the forward gate, weapons drawn.

  With a horrible crash, the sea gate gave way. Spurring to action, Helen pulled back her bow. She shifted from side to side, looking for a shot. Before her eyes, mayhem erupted while MacDonalds collided with MacGregors and MacIains. If she fired now, she could kill one of her own. Holding her bow at the ready, blades flickered in the sunlight in a brutal battle.

  Helen had always thought watching men spar was like a dance, but this was nowhere near the same. Ugly, brutal, vicious, the men attacked. Iron clashed with screeching scrapes of metal on metal. Blood curdling screams made chills slither over Helen’s skin.

  Helpless to fight from the battlements, she and the archers watched in horror as blood spurted and the cries of men echoed between the inner bailey walls. Helen had never been witness to a battle in her own home. If the men failed, there would be little hope for survival. They might even try to ravish her…or…

  She shuddered in concert with another blast from the cannon.

  I will die before one of them places his filthy hands on my daughter.

  Directly beneath her, Eoin fought two at once. By the saints, he was quick on his feet. His deadly sharp sword whipped through the air so fast, Helen only saw a silver blur swinging in arcs around him while he defended every blow. Just when he cut one down, another stepped up.

  On and on the battle raged with terrors far worse than the stories Helen had heard—and no one ever described such raw violence—uglier and more brutal than anything she could have imagined. War truly embodies hell on earth.

  “To the boats!” a loud bellow boomed over the throng.

  Before Helen could make out who’d given the order, the MacDonald men ran for their galleys. Helen raced to the other side of the wall-walk. Mr. Keith’s cannonballs had sunk one of their galleys. Eoin and his men gave chase while the surviving MacDonalds climbed over the hull and took up their oars.

  Mr. Keith stepped in beside her. “Should I fire the cannon at them, m’lady?”

  She’d seen enough bloodshed to last her lifetime. “I think not. Besides, if that noisy thing misfired, the men down on the shore could be injured.” She had first-hand experience with that.

  He grinned at her, stretching his weathered features. “My thoughts as well.”

  Eoin stood on the beach and watched the galley sail pick up the wind. It didn’t look so proud with a torn pennant and the tip of its stern blown off. But Eoin looked magnificent with his sword in one hand, dirk in the other. Drawing in deep breaths, his shoulders rose and fell in a slow rhythm. He stood with his feet apart, braced as if he were ready for another attack.

  A sunbeam broke through the clouds and illuminated him.

  A warrior sent from heaven.

  After the galley disappeared around the point of Ardnamurchan, Eoin turned and looked directly up at Helen. Her heart swelled in her chest. Time slowed for a moment while their gazes locked. Even if Helen had wanted to, she couldn’t turn away.

  If only I could race down to the beach and fall into those brawny arms.

  Then Helen realized Aleck hadn’t been involved in the battle at all.

  Keith tapped her shoulder. “They’re leading Sir Aleck into the keep.”

  She clapped a hand over her mouth and dashed to the other side. “Oh my heavens.” Aleck was walking, but his shoulders stooped, and he held his arm close to his body.

  Helen rushed to the stairwell and pattered down three flights until she met Aleck and his men at the second-floor landing. “What happened m’laird?”

  “Broke my arm fighting in Sunart.” From the looks of the purple bruise spreading from his forehead and around his eye, he’d nearly broken his head as well.

  “We must tend it directly.” She reached for the elbow not in a sling. “Please allow me to assist you to your chamber.”

  He jerked away. “I need neither your sympathy nor your help. Send Mary up with a flagon of whisky.”

  “M’laird.” Helen looked over her shoulder at the stunned faces of the guard. Eoin stepped behind them. “At least allow me to see to your comfort and then—”

  “Be gone with you and do as I say.” He raised his hand as if to deliver a slap, but the wallop stopped midair.

  Eoin’s big hand wrapped around Aleck’s wrist. “The lady just held your keep against Alexander MacDonald and your thanks is to strike her?” Eoin’s voice seethed, as if he could snap Aleck’s arm in two.

  Sir Aleck faced the MacGregor Chieftain and snarled. “If I weren’t waylaid, I’d finish this now.”

  “Aye?” Eoin emitted a spiteful chuckle. “Backstab the man who saved you in Sunart?”

  Aleck jutted his face so close to Eoin’s, their noses almost touched. “I told you I didn’t need saving.”

  “Too right,” Eoin growled. “I should have let the MacDonald bastard run you through.”

  “You sicken me. Have you not a beloved sword to sharpen?” Aleck turned his shoulder and limped toward his chamber. “Send Mary up with my whisky and leave me be.”

  After the door closed behind him, Helen clapped her hands to her cheeks and ran. Must her husband now humiliate her every time she saw him? So, their first born was a lass. They weren’t the only couple in the world who had produced a female child first. Did Aleck want a boy so he could cast her aside and never have to perform the vile act of consummation with her again?

  Worse, did Eoin MacGregor have to ascend the stairs just as Aleck was issuing his retort? And would she have ended up with yet another blackened eye had Eoin not intervened? Helen gasped. Would Aleck seek retribution against her dear friend and ally? Undoubtedly he would. He could not withstand any man who made him appear weak.

  Tears dribbled down her cheeks as Helen reached the far stairwell and started up toward the nursery.

  “Lady Helen,” Eoin called after her. “Please wait.”

  She shook her head. “Go away.”

  Starting up, she
hoped he’d turn around, take his men and sail back to Argyllshire. But his hand wrapped around her wrist. He grasped her firmly, but not so hard his fingers would leave a bruise. “Please stop. I’d like to talk—to thank you for all you have done.”

  Helen backed down the step, swiping a hand across her face. She didn’t want him to see her crying yet again. “Pardon me?”

  He placed his palm on the wall near her head. “I saw enough. You stood beside the men on the battlements and fought off the MacDonalds—my, you are quite a markswoman.”

  She smirked. “Aye, though all would have been lost had you not arrived when you did.”

  He casually leaned toward her. “But you wore the enemy down. Made our job easy. It would be an honor to have you in Clan Gregor any time.”

  If only that had been the way of things from the outset of her miserable adulthood. But no, she was married to Satan, and had been forced to act as a warrior woman due to circumstances, not because she was courageous or a great tactician. She’d had no other choice. She’d taken part in killing—and no matter how necessary it was to defend her home, her mind couldn’t rationalize it. “I am most certainly not proud of this day.”

  She must have missed a tear, because he brushed the pad of his thumb over the corner of her eye. “’Tis because you have a kind heart. You should not have been forced to defend Mingary.”

  “But I did, and then Aleck—” She clapped her hands over her face. Her heart twisted in knots. She must stop seeking pity from Sir Eoin. So her husband hated her—had no qualms about embarrassing her in front of the entire clan or outsiders. There was nothing she could do about it now—not with Maggie tucked away in the nursery and Aleck threatening vile acts of vengeance.

  Eoin grasped her hand between palms that had no right to be so warm. “My lady, no woman should be forced to endure the humiliation I witnessed today.”

  She tugged her fingers away. “Eoin, I know you have only the best intentions, but I must ask you to ignore Sir Aleck’s gruff treatment of my person. After all, he is my husband. An alliance was made upon our betrothal and witnessed in the eyes of God. When he is ready, he will come to me to produce the heir he needs to continue the MacIain name. It is my duty to see it done.” The words sank like lead all the way down to her toes.