Highland Conquest Read online

  “Aye, Laird.” The warrior turned away and whistled sharply. Men dropped what they were doing, grabbed their weapons, and scrambled to meet with Hamish in the clearing. More warriors streamed out of the woods.

  Callum leaned around her to speak to the laird. “Adaira’s stubborn, Lachlan. Doona start by yelling at her or she’ll dig her heels in.”

  “She canna dig her heels in; she’s in a tree. And I’m going to leave her there.”

  “Nay, you’re not. And doona threaten her with consequences you canna keep, because she’ll just push you to them.”

  “So what should I say to her, then?”

  “I doona know. She’s ten. Use your imagination. But whate’er you do, follow through.”

  “I’ll do what Gregor did. He kept the five of us in line.”

  “You canna.”

  “Why e’er not?”

  “She’s a lass!”

  Amber scoffed behind her gag and rolled her eyes at the same time as Lachlan shot Callum an incredulous look. “Is that what you intend to tell Maggie when she’s tossing her knives at you for leaving her unwed for so long? ‘Put the daggers down, Wife. You’re a lass.’ Nay, I’ll make Adaira do what Gregor did to us—muck out the stalls, clean the chamber pots, and launder the clothes in the freezing loch during winter. After she’s run around the castle ten times. That’ll get her attention.”

  Callum harrumphed, then said, “Maggie’s not my wife…yet.”

  Amber stared at her captor. At Lachlan. She liked the name—Lachlan MacKay. It suited him somehow, even though she’d known him for less than an hour and had yet to speak to him with anything other than her eyes and body. Nay, he’d done all the talking as he’d dragged her along.

  Idiot man.

  They were about to walk through the waterfall to the caves behind, when she realized her face might be washed clean. She panicked, trying to back up. Both men gripped her arms and dragged her through the torrent of water. She ducked her head, hoping her hair would keep the deluge from her face. It soaked the back of her head instead, down her temples and neck. She gasped as the cold water struck her skin.

  When she was through, she couldn’t help but stare at Lachlan in the flickering light from a torch that was mounted on the cave wall. He must have lifted his face up as he passed under to clean it, and the water streaked in muddy rivulets down his lean cheeks. She glanced at Callum to see that he had done the same.

  They were both such braw men. Lachlan in particular appealed to her with his strong, scruff-covered jaw and his finely shaped lips, the lower one slightly fuller than the top one, his nose straight other than a small bump in the middle where it had obviously been broken. And she liked his eyes too.

  Aye. She liked his eyes. Thickly lashed and dark blue—and staring hard at her face.

  “How old are you, lad?” he asked in a low tone, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

  Every hair on the back of her neck stood up. She felt something cold on her cheek and jumped as Callum’s knife sliced through her gag. Lachlan pulled it out and she coughed. When she looked back at him, he still hadn’t looked away.

  “Um…fourteen,” she lied, her tongue thick and her mouth dry.

  “And your name?”

  She brought to mind one of the boys she knew and tried to slouch in the same manner as him. “Ian.”

  “Are you a MacPherson, then?”

  “Aye.” She glanced around nervously then back at Lachlan. His face looked carved in stone.

  “What did Machar Murray want of you, lad? Did he touch you?”

  Her eyebrows shot up as his meaning and harsh demeanor sank in. He was worried the laird had forced her into unwanted carnal acts.

  “Nay. I…um…stole from him. A loaf of bread. My sister was hungry.” A true story on the real Ian’s part. That had led to Amber pleading for his life at the castle, which in turn had led to Amber having to run for her life tonight.

  “And that’s all? How did you escape?”

  “I had help. The steward, Niall, got me out. Many good people work at the castle, Laird MacKay, including the guards. They had no part in Machar Murray’s treachery. They doona deserve to die at the hands of your warriors.”

  “And my men doona deserve to die either. If the MacPhersons fight back, they’ll be disabled, possibly killed. What would you have me do? Let my brother’s murderer live?”

  “Nay, he’s killed many of my clan too, including my father. But the MacPhersons need help, not more death and destruction.”

  “As do we all, but I canna promise you more than I already have.”

  “Then find another way!”

  “Nay, that’s impossible now. The guards will be on the alert, looking for you. Even if they haven’t realized you’ve gone, they’ll stumble o’er your rope sooner or later. We strike now and hope they havenae realized we’re coming, which means you’ll stay here until the castle is taken.”

  He led her toward a second, smaller cave at the back of the cavern and passed her to another guard. “Keep him tied up, and doona underestimate him. He’ll run straight back to the MacPhersons and sound the alarm.”

  “You canna leave me here!” she yelled. But he’d already turned away and headed toward the waterfall. “Come back, Lachlan, I need to tend to my people!” He ducked under the waterfall, Callum ahead of him.

  Panic rose and took over her body. Her clan was in trouble and she wasn’t there to help. She ran after the men, but the guard held her back and tugged her farther into the cave, kicking and screaming.

  “Lachlan MacKay! Come back!”

  Two

  Lachlan could just see the tips of his cousin’s shoes hanging from one of the branches near the top of the big pine tree. “Adaira, climb down right now.” His voice was rough with frustration, and Callum laid a warning hand on his arm.

  “Nay.” She sounded small and scared.

  Taking a deep breath, he tried to find a nugget of calm within his anger. He had neither the time nor the patience to reassure her that everything would be all right, but if it got her down safely and quickly, he would try to be more reasonable.

  “If you doona come down, lass, I’ll come up and get you. And if I have to come up and get you, I’ll send you back to live with your mother and her husband at the farm for four months. I am your laird, and I willna abide anyone living under my roof who treats the people who care for her with such disrespect. Did you think about how worried everyone at the castle would be? How your mother would feel? Do you understand that a warrior has been sent back to the castle to report that you are here, and I am now one man short? These are the consequences of your actions. So, you can now be brave and choose to come down on your own and continue living at the castle, knowing you will be assigned tasks you willna like for the next three months as penalty, or you can make me come up and get you. The choice is yours—just like it was your choice to climb into the food wagon. You have ten seconds to decide. One, two, three, four, five, six, sev—”

  “I’m coming, I’m coming. Stop counting.”

  Lachlan suppressed a grin. Aye, she hated the counting. A technique one of his clanswomen with six of her own bairns had taught him. He looked at the moon rising in the sky, and his anger welled again. The battle plan had been drawn, the warriors waited on their horses, weapons at the ready, yet here he stood at the base of a tree coaxing down a ten-year-old lass when he should be riding to avenge his brother.

  “Faster!” he yelled, and regretted it when her foot slipped in her haste and she almost fell. A minute later, she stood before him, wispy blond curls that she hated sticking out from her head, soft cheeks wet with tears, though she’d made not a sound as they formed, and thickly lashed green eyes that always met his no matter what she’d done. She was small for her age, but made up for it in personality and grit.

  Her mother had no idea what
to do with her; she’d sent Adaira to Lachlan after she’d married again. Adaira’s older brother Airril was in Inverness, and Adaira had refused to show any respect to either her mother or stepfather.

  Lachlan crouched in front of her, quelling his impatience. “I am pleased you chose to stay with me at the castle, lass. Now you will wait for me here and write a letter to your mother, your stepfather, your tutor, and everyone else at Clan MacKay who may be worried about you. I will read the letters before they are sent off, and if I doona feel you properly understand the gravity of your behavior, you will start again. Are we in agreement?”

  “Aye, Lachlan.”

  “Nay, Adaira. In this matter, I am your laird, not your cousin. You will address me as such.”

  “Aye, Laird MacKay.”

  “Good. Now you will hug me as your cousin, and promise me ne’er to do anything so foolish again.”

  Adaira threw herself in his arms, tears breaking free, and he held her tight as she sobbed. “Are you hungry, lass?” he asked after a minute when she’d calmed down. She shook her head. Of course not, she’d been hiding in the food wagon. “Thirsty, then?”

  “Aye.”

  He pushed her to arm’s length. “Go have something to drink and get started on your letters. I have to leave now. ’Tis important to all of us that we get justice for Donald. I’ll be back in a day or two. When I return, we’ll ride home together, aye?”

  She nodded, and her eyes rounded. “Are you going to stab the bloody MacPherson in his black heart? You should twist the sword in again and again, then run over him with your horse. Then you should give him to a pack of wild dogs, so they can eat him.”

  This is what he got for allowing her to watch his men train. “First of all, he’s not a MacPherson. His name is Machar Murray. And second of all, when did you become so bloodthirsty? I doona like you thinking such grisly things.”

  “I canna help what I think, Lachlan. My thoughts just come and go. Sometimes I think they’re bad thoughts, like when I wanted to pour the ink pot in tutor Gwynn’s drink, and sometimes I think they’re really good thoughts, like when I decided to climb into the food wagon and follow you here.”

  Lachlan grunted and rose to his feet. “Well, doona think either of those again. Now, off you go. Sleep in the cave behind the waterfall. My extra blanket is there to keep you warm, and you will find pen and paper in my bag for your letters. You will listen to Earc, and above all else, you willna talk to the lad who is my prisoner.”

  “Is that who you brought to the camp earlier? The one who’s yelling? I saw it all from the tree.”

  “Aye. He’s a MacPherson lad who stumbled upon us, and we had to bring him back so he wouldnae tell anyone. He’s worried for his clan, but we canna let him go, lest he warn the guards we’re coming.”

  “So he’s a spy, then?” She looked far too intrigued for his liking.

  “Nay. I told you, he’s a child just like you, who loves his clan and is worried for them.” He handed her over to one of the men. “Go now. And Adaira, whate’er you do, doona follow us—and doona talk to the lad.”

  She nodded solemnly and walked off with the guard. Lachlan watched her go until she reached the waterfall and ducked behind it, then he mounted his horse. Callum was already mounted and waiting. Like Lachlan, half his face was painted blue for the coming battle, an homage to his Pictish ancestors. All the foster brothers wore the blue during battle—a tradition started when they were just lads living with Gregor. His eyes were cold and hard yet burned with ferocity, giving him a frighteningly grim visage.

  A reflection of Lachlan’s own face.

  “Was that imaginative enough for you?” he asked his foster brother.

  “Aye, you did well. But you know she’ll go straight to your prisoner now and talk his ear off.”

  “’Tis what I wanted. He needs something to keep him occupied and his mind off the attack. And Adaira will be fascinated by him.”

  “What lass wouldnae be, with those eyes? I doona think I’ve e’er seen a bonnier lad.”

  “Nay, me neither. ’Tis why I worried when I saw him in the light with some of the dirt washed off. We doona know if Murray is the type to abuse children.”

  “The boy seems well enough, just angry.”

  “As I would be. You were right, Callum. We need to go in soft and encourage the MacPhersons to lay down their arms. I’ll give the order. I doona want to look the lad in the eye tomorrow and know I havenae done everything possible to save his clan.”

  * * *

  Amber watched the young lass peek around the rock wall at her. All she could see was one eye, some dark-blond curls sticking out from her head, and the bottom of her skirt. Amber had stopped yelling about a half hour ago, her voice hoarse and throat raw, and had slumped onto the damp cavern floor—tied by the guard to a ring embedded in the rock and left there with only a single candle to see by.

  When she’d finally accepted the futility of her situation, the tears had streamed down her face. Why hadn’t she told Lachlan her true identity? Explained her situation? He might have let her come with them. Instead, she’d hidden behind her disguise until it was too late, and now her people were in harm’s way.

  Unless this girl could free her. Which meant Amber would have to win her over. She bit her lip, trying to be patient. She couldn’t afford to scare her off.

  “I thought you were a lad,” the girl finally said in a whisper.

  Amber’s eyes widened in surprise. None of the men had recognized her for a lass, yet this girl hadn’t been fooled. “Nay, I’m a woman. My name’s Amber. Come closer, lass, so I can see you. ’Tis Adaira, right?” she croaked.

  Adaira’s whole head poked around the corner. “How did you know that?”

  “Lachlan told me…before he left and the lad escaped.”

  The MacKay lass stepped fully into the light, eyes round, mouth open. “How did he escape? Did he tie you up and take your dress? Is he pretending to be a woman so he can sneak back and help the MacPhersons? They killed my cousin, you know.”

  “Not the MacPhersons, lass. ’Twas Machar Murray who killed him and many others, including my father.”

  The girl’s head jerked up, her breath catching audibly in her throat. “My father was killed too.”

  Och, poor lass. Amber still felt the devastation of her father’s death, who’d been a commander of the old Laird’s warriors, and she knew Adaira must as well. But…Amber could use that pain to bind them together.

  ’Twas a deplorable act, but necessary to help her people.

  “I’m so sorry. How long ago was that?” she asked.

  “Two years. A horse kicked him in the head. My mother married someone else last spring. He’s all right, I suppose, but he doesn’t toss me in the air like my da used to, or chase me around the yard. Now I live in the castle with Lachlan and the other foster brothers when they visit.”

  “That sounds most agreeable, but I wager you miss your da.”

  Adaira shrugged and dropped her eyes, but not before Amber saw the tremor in the girl’s lip.

  “I miss my father,” Amber continued. “He used to tickle me all over and sometimes let me ride on his back like a pony.”

  The girl’s eyes lit up. “Aye, my da used to do that too. And sometimes he’d rear up and I’d have to hold on tight or I’d fall off.” She squinted and stepped closer, gaze trained on Amber’s head. “What happened to your hair? It’s shorter even than mine, and sticking out all o’er the place. Did the lad cut it off? Did he tie it to his head, so he’d look more like a lass? Lachlan said he was a spy.”

  Amber nodded wisely and leaned forward. “I think he is, Adaira. Free me, so I can tell your cousin the lad’s escaped before something awful happens.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like Machar Murray getting away, or Lachlan and his men being ambushed. You
wouldnae want to lose him too, would you?”

  A panicked expression crossed the girl’s face and guilt punched Amber hard in the gut. Her stomach turned at the idea of using the wee lass, but lives were at stake. MacPherson lives.

  She would make it up to Adaira when she could.

  The girl squatted beside her and stared at the rope binding Amber’s wrists to the metal ring. “These look like the knots Lachlan taught me. I practiced until my fingers bled.”

  She sounded proud of her accomplishment and Amber repressed a smile. “Aye, the lad said Lachlan had tied him up. He must have remembered what to do. Can you undo them?”

  “Maybe, but ’twould be faster if I cut them off.”

  “You have a knife?” Amber tried to keep the excitement out of her voice.

  “I always have a knife.”

  As happy as Amber was that the wee lass could cut the rope, it worried her the girl might hurt herself. If Amber had the opportunity when this was over, and she wasn’t thrown in the dungeon, she’d speak to Lachlan about it.

  “Will you cut the cords for me, then? Please, Adaira?”

  “Aye.” The girl moved the candle closer, reached into the folds of her dress, and brought out a small knife, like one she might have used at dinner. She placed it on the hemp at Amber’s wrists, who scooted back as far as she could, hope trembling through her.

  “You’re shivering.”

  “I’m just cold. And excited, of course, to tell Lachlan about the lad.”

  “Can I come with you?” Adaira asked.

  “Nay, I’m sorry, lass. It’s too dangerous. Please hurry.”

  Adaira sighed and began to saw through the cord. “That’s what Lachlan said, but I doona think he understands how much I practice with my weapon—just like his warriors.”

  “I daresay, for I’m sure he wouldnae like it if you got hurt.”

  “I did get hurt once. Well, twice, but I ne’er made those mistakes again. ’Tis good to know how to defend yourself.”

  “I agree. My father taught me how to fight with my hands and body in case I was e’er attacked. I can teach you what to do when this is all over, if you like.”