Highland Thief Read online

  “I’m sorry. I couldnae, I just… I couldnae.”

  “Nay, doona apologize. And you doona need to explain. You were so hurt by that devil of a man.” Her gaze darted to Kerr, a worried look on her face as if she feared she’d said too much.

  He hated that his people had been so beaten down by his father that they were still afraid even after fifteen years. “A devil if ever there was one,” he agreed. “I miss my ma dearly.”

  The fear in her face changed to sympathy, and she reached her hand out to him. “As do I, Laird. She was a good woman. She ne’er deserved such a fate.”

  “I swear to you, and to all the clan, Ailsa, that while there is still breath in my body, I’ll fight for you and for all our people.”

  “I know you will. Just like your ma. Thank you, Laird MacAlister.” And then her face lit up with excitement. “And we would be honored to come to your wedding feast.”

  Isobel laughed again. “We want everyone to come. And we’ll take all of your bread if you have enough. Please tell your friends, your family, that today is a day of celebration!”

  “I will,” she said. She dropped a curtsy to Isobel, and the shy Donaldina copied her. Isobel dipped her head in acknowledgment and winked at the lass.

  “Will you come with us?” Ailsa asked Una. “My ma would love to see you…and my brother too.”

  Una looked at Kerr. He nodded. “We’ll make our way to the square, and then leave for the castle after that. Encourage everyone to come!”

  “Aye, Laird,” they said, and then hurried off, Donaldina between them.

  Isobel released a heavy sigh when they were out of earshot. “It’s begun.”

  Kerr nodded. “I doona know how much time we’ll have before the enemy arrives in force.” He signaled to the Merry Men. “Go and do as my wife instructed you to do when I wasn’t there. Be amusing and entertaining. Tell everyone about the feast.”

  “Aye, Laird.”

  “And you too, Father Lundie. Convince everyone you can to join us on the walk up to the castle.” He looked up at the sky, gauging the time. “I want to leave by noon.”

  ***

  Kerr’s cheeks hurt from smiling, even though every step Diabhla took across the open bluff, from the village to the castle that loomed at the end, felt like a death knell. At the same time, he couldn’t help checking over his shoulder to make sure the enemy army wasn’t coming up behind them.

  He closed his eyes and said a quick prayer for all of their safety, especially the bairns who were darting excitedly through the crowd, scaring their parents who kept yelling at them to stay away from the cliff!

  And no wonder. The drop down to the beach below was not one a child—or anyone—could survive.

  The entire village, plus people from outlying farms, had joined them, some riding, some walking, and some traveling in wagons because of injury or age. Several people pushed carts full of food and drink for the feast. Isobel had assured him the kitchens would need it for such a big impromptu celebration.

  He just hoped they made it to the celebration part of the day alive.

  A few men had been quietly taken captive at the village and restrained in the church—MacAlister warriors who’d appeared alarmed at his presence and had tried to run. They had pleaded with him for mercy and then confirmed what he’d already known—other traitors were at the castle and in the village. Warriors, but also regular folk who had been bribed or blackmailed.

  A similar method to the one his father had used all those years ago when he’d convinced the other clans, including Isobel’s father, to attack Gregor MacLeod.

  Good had come out of those desperate times, and he prayed good would prevail here too.

  “I’ve heard about your castle, of course,” Isobel said from atop her horse, looking up at the soaring stone fortress on the cliff. “But until you see it in person, you canna imagine the true beauty and majesty of it.”

  Kerr reached over and grasped her hand. “It’s piles of rocks, Izzy. That’s all. Not until you step inside will it be my home.”

  She smiled, a real one this time, and then lifted their clasped hands and kissed his knuckles. “The gates are open. That’s good, aye?”

  “Aye. It means the warriors manning the gates—or most of them—are still loyal. The man from the beach, the one who suffocated Father Gregory, doesn’t have enough influence yet, to have taken over all the key positions. They weren’t expecting us.”

  “And the ones who aren’t loyal didn’t expect their families and friends to ride up with us,” Isobel added.

  “True.”

  He studied the battlements and saw warriors lining it. Some of them shouted and waved at them, curious and excited to see all the people heading toward them. Others had started to gather at the gates, and a few were riding or walking toward them.

  “Laird MacAlister,” a young woman called up to him from the ground beside Diabhla. She carried a swaddled bairn in her arms, and worry had painted dark shadows and etched lines around her eyes. A tall, lanky lad tugged on her sleeve as if to pull her away.

  Kerr leaned down toward her. “Breanag, lass, what’s troubling you?”

  “The babe needs medicine, but the steward, Fearchar, wouldnae allow the healer to help us anymore unless Billy agreed to put something in the ale at the castle. He works in the kitchens, Laird, and he’s afraid if he doesn’t do it, our sweet Ollie will die. Please, help us. Ollie is starting to weaken again.”

  Kerr’s mouth tightened, and his face heated with fury—not at the young parents but at the depravity of the men who had put such a wee life at risk.

  He inhaled deeply and slowly before he spoke. “Billy, you willna add anything to the ale, do you understand? And if anyone approaches you to do such a thing, you will tell me.” Billy nodded jerkily, his eyes wide and a pulse drumming in his neck. “I have already taken care of Fearchar, but you both must stay quiet about it until I say so. Agreed?”

  “Aye, Laird,” they said together.

  He peered over his shoulder. “Where’s the healer? I doona recall seeing her.”

  “She’s at the castle,” Billy said.

  “Is someone ill?”

  “I-I doona know.”

  Kerr blew out a breath. Another person for him to worry about. He reached toward Breanag. “Please, may I hold Ollie?”

  “Of course,” she said, smiling shyly.

  Warmth filled his chest as he cuddled the tiny bairn close to his heart. Isobel leaned over, peeked at the babe, and then gasped quietly. The lad looked unwell.

  “Kerr,” she said urgently, brushing the tips of her fingers over the bairn’s forehead.

  “I know.” He kissed the babe’s brow, and then handed him back to his mother. “My foster brother’s wife, Amber MacKay, is the finest healer I’ve e’er met. I’ll speak to Lachlan when he arrives and arrange for you to take Ollie to see her.”

  “Laird MacKay is coming?” Billy asked.

  “Aye.”

  “And the other lairds?”

  When Kerr nodded, Billy’s eyes brightened with relief.

  “I’ve heard stories of what it was like before you led the clan, Laird MacAlister. Stories I can barely believe, let alone understand. But these last few months, I’ve seen how quickly fear has shaped our lives. How we’re…susceptible to it. I doona want my little lad to grow up feeling that way. I doona want him afraid.”

  Kerr clamped his hand on Billy’s shoulder. “Neither do I. And I promise I’ll fight so he doesn’t have to.”

  “And please know that you can always come to us,” Isobel added. “Let the others know too.”

  Billy straightened his shoulders and put a protective arm around his wife. “Aye, Laird,” he said, and then disappeared into the throng.

  Kerr whistled for Malcolm, who was guarding their rear, and he rode up be
side him. He looked like Kerr felt—grim, worried, like they were heading into a trap.

  “Riders approaching,” Kerr said. “Watch their faces. Read their eyes. They should be excited and happy for us, not worried or fearful. If they’re loyal, they’ll want to help us set up the feast, to invite everyone in. If they’re not, they’ll try to dissuade us from coming inside and give excuses as to why we canna have our feast today.”

  “And watch whom they look to,” Isobel said. “They’ll want support from their fellow conspirators and will make eye contact.”

  “Aye, Izzy. Good point. Their eyes and actions will lead us to the others. Doona kill them unless they attack. It may be they’re like Billy and being forced to make an unbearable choice.”

  “We can lock them in the guard house by the gate,” Malcolm said. “We doona want them to our rear.”

  Kerr looked behind him and spotted Father Lundie, deep in conversation with a woman who looked upset. Another member of his clan put into an impossible situation?

  “I want the portcullis jammed once everyone is in. Under no circumstances do I want it raised for anyone but our allies. I’ll ask Father Lundie to do it.”

  “Father Lundie?” Malcolm asked.

  “Aye, he’s done it before at Castle MacKinnon.”

  “Laird MacAlister!” a rider called out, the voice happy and excited, and one Kerr recognized. He whipped his head around to confirm, and relief flowed through him upon seeing the young blond-headed MacKinnon warrior—a favorite of all the lairds.

  “Finnian! What are you doing here?” Finn would protect Isobel if he could not.

  “I escorted Father Lundie on his journey. We arrived yester—” His eyes widened. “My lady! Is our laird here too? Are the other lairds?” His brow creased, and he sought Kerr’s gaze.

  “They will be. Quickly, Finn. What do you know about the castle? Is anything happening that shouldnae be happening?”

  Finn’s brow smoothed out in understanding, and he nodded. “I dropped off the Father at the church and made my way to the castle barracks yesterday evening, but my reception was cool. The commander in charge, an older warrior named Craigh, said I couldnae stay, but then Gillis heard and stepped in. He was irate.”

  “Gillis is in charge while I’m gone,” Kerr said. “I appointed him two years ago. He’s not part of my father’s old guard. ’Tis good to know he’s loyal.”

  “What’s happening? Is there a plan to overthrow you? Our allies would ne’er stand for it.”

  “’Tis why our enemies have tried so hard the past few years to get rid of them. The man in charge is dangerous and desperate. I’m glad to know you’re safe.”

  “Only because I didn’t sleep in the barracks last night.”

  “Where did you sleep?” Isobel asked. Finn’s cheeks flushed, and Isobel raised her brow. “Oh! Well…how fortunate you have a lass here.”

  Finn shifted his attention back to Kerr. “Laird, I doona think Gillis can help you. I looked for him today when I couldnae find Father Lundie. No one has seen him since last night.”

  Kerr sighed, knowing more good men would be compromised before the day was out.

  They were almost at the portcullis when two other riders approached them. Only one looked happy to see them, and he’d called out to a lass who was walking with the group of villagers. The other rider kept peering back through the gate as if seeking guidance.

  Traitor number one.

  His laird was right in front of him. That’s who he should be looking to for guidance.

  “Follow my lead, Finn. We need to move the villagers in first and then start taking out the conspirators. Oh, and one more thing…”

  “Aye, Laird?”

  “Isobel isn’t your lady any longer. She’s my wife.”

  ***

  “Laird MacAlister! What’s happening?” a short, sturdy middle-aged warrior asked as Kerr entered underneath the raised portcullis with Malcolm by his side. Isobel rode behind him, guarded by Finn.

  “He’s the one who wouldnae let me stay in the barracks,” Finn whispered as they dismounted.

  Kerr nodded and turned to the man. “We’re having a feast, Craigh. A celebration of my marriage to Isobel MacKinnon, now MacAlister.” Kerr watched the warriors’ faces who had gathered around him. To his relief, most of them broke out into cheers and excitedly welcomed Isobel—the same as the villagers.

  She stayed on her horse—he’d insisted—and waved and smiled from the saddle.

  One man’s expression was pure panic, however, and when he darted toward the guard room, Kerr signaled Malcolm to follow him without drawing any attention.

  “But, Laird,” the first warrior said. “’Tis not enough time to plan a feast. I’m sure Mistress Cook would agree. Perhaps if we planned it for tomorrow, that would give us all time to prepare.”

  “Hmmm, perhaps you’re right,” Kerr said. “Let’s look at the scheduled rotations. I want as many men as possible at the feast. We can thin out the guard a little for one day, aye?” He ushered Craigh in front of him and followed the same path Malcolm had taken. When they approached the closed door, he said loudly, “The feast will raise everyone’s spirits!”

  Upon entering the guard house, Craigh came to an abrupt halt, but Kerr pressed him forward, his dagger out, and kicked the door shut.

  Malcolm crouched over the other warrior, tying a gag around his mouth. The traitor whirled and gasped, but Kerr gave him no time to yell or draw his weapon before he pressed his dagger to the man’s throat. “How many others?”

  “Laird! Surely, I doona know—”

  Kerr pressed the blade deeper and a trickle of blood ran down his skin. “Gillis MacAlister is dead. A good man and a good warrior, sworn to keep the clan safe in my absence. Unless you can give me something useful, I will slit your throat as easily as you and the others slit his.” Kerr was guessing as to Gillis’s fate, but the look on Craigh’s face confirmed it.

  Fury and regret tore through Kerr. Gillis had two lads, nine and ten, and a five-year-old lass. His wife had died in childbirth. “I want names. Who’s in charge?”

  “I doona know all of them. Fearchar was the one with the money. I did as he told me to do.”

  “And who paid Fearchar?”

  The traitor whimpered. “I’ve only seen him a few times, and I ne’er learned his name, I swear. But Fearchar said once that he was our true laird—the one our old laird wanted to rule after him.”

  “So, he’s a MacAlister?”

  “I doona know. His hair is as dark as yours, but his eyes are light. The last time I saw him, I barely recognized him—he’d been injured.”

  “In the collapse of the MacKinnon cathedral.”

  “’Tis what I heard. I doona know any more. Please…Fearchar is in charge.”

  Kerr loosed that deep, dark part of him, let the fury rise into his eyes. “Nay, Craigh,” he snarled. “That’s what you doona understand. I am laird here, and I am in charge.”

  Then he hit the man hard enough that he crumpled to the ground. “Restrain him.”

  ***

  Isobel sat astride her mare and welcomed everyone who came through the gate—led, of course, by her entertaining band of Merry Men. Dùghlas’s friends crossed to the far end of the bailey, near the keep, and continued with their juggling, music, and other hilarious acts.

  The castle folk came out, too, and shouted enquiries to the villagers—What’s going on? What’s happening?

  She heard hers and Kerr’s names bandied about several times, as well as that song—that bloody song she hated—being recited by different groups until the Merry Men picked it up and performed a similar version to the one they sang for her last night.

  At least their version was amusing.

  When the last person came through the gate—a young man pushing a cart with a frail eld
erly woman in it—Isobel knew that despite the existence of several traitors in the clan, and people willing to hurt newborn bairns, the majority of the MacAlisters were good people.

  Now it was up to her and Kerr to dig out the rot.

  “That’s the last one, my lady,” Finn said.

  Father Lundie stepped out from a shed beside the gate, holding a long sword in his arms. “Do you want me to disable the portcullis now? ’Tis the same mechanism as Castle MacKinnon. I’ll jam the sword into the chain just before the grill hits the ground. It took a day and a half for them to raise it last time.”

  “I remember. I was covered in mud from a trap I’d been building, and I couldnae get in. Kerr teased me about it afterward for days. Hmmm. Suddenly I’m feeling the urge to forgo our wedding feast and build another trap.”

  “Is that a yes, my lady?” the priest asked with a smile.

  “Aye. For all we know, the army could be making their way around the castle as we speak.”

  Consternation crossed Father Lundie’s face, and he hurried back into the shed.

  Kerr and Malcolm had disappeared again, and when a large warrior appeared and strode toward them, a twinge of unease knotted her belly. His smile didn’t reach his eyes.

  “Finnian,” she warned.

  “Aye, my lady. Stay behind me.” He urged his horse in front of hers as the warrior, much older and heavier than Finn, drew his sword and darted forward.

  Isobel gasped, her heart in her throat, but before the two warriors clashed, the man dropped to his knees and fell forward. Finn’s horse reared, and he backed up, blocking her. “Arrows!”

  She peeked around him and saw the shaft and feathers penetrating from the warrior’s back. “’Tis all right. That’s from our side.”

  Finn’s brow raised. “We have snipers in place? Of course we do. Who are they?”

  “Kerr’s half brothers, Andy and Aulay. And his uncle is here too.” She stared at the body, feeling a little sick as a pool of blood formed under him. She knew what he’d intended for them, and for Father Lundie and Kerr as well, but she couldn’t help thinking that only moments ago he’d been alive.