Black Raven's Lady: Highland Lairds Trilogy (25 page)

The screech of the iron hinges interrupted them. “Time to go, my lady,” a guard said with a respectful bow. The burly man retreated, leaving the door partly open.

“Keir, I want you to keep this,” Raine said. She held out her hand, the rune in her palm. “ ’Twill keep you safe until you are rescued or ransomed. Please promise you’ll keep it on your person at all times.”

“I don’t need that idiotic trinket,” he growled. “That damn thing won’t protect me from a gnat.”

Pressing her lips together in stubborn determination, she reached out, took his hand and placed the carved heart into his palm. He fisted his hand around it, knowing reason wouldn’t sway her. “I’m telling you not to go, Raine,” he gritted through clenched teeth. “If you betray me now, I’ll never forget it.”

The door swung wide and this time the guard stood waiting. “Laird MacMurchaidh has sent word, my lady,” he said, bowing so deep his long narrow frame nearly bent in two. “ ’Tis time to go aboard.”

“Goddammit,” Keir said through clenched teeth. “When I find you, Raine, I’ll thrash you within an inch of your life.” The rage inside him made every muscle tighten and clench as though preparing for battle. “And I will find you,” he promised.

“Good-bye, Keir,” Raine said, her words thick and mournful. “Please try to understand and forgive me.” She offered a tremulous smile of apology, then turned and started to walk to the doorway.

“Wait, Raine!” Keir called. Foreboding chomped at his gut—and an almost paralyzing fear that he might never see her again. He moved to grab her arm, only to be jerked up short by the chain that bound him to the wall. “Don’t go with that bastard!” he shouted. “Don’t betray me like this, Raine! Goddammit! Come back here!”

The iron hinges creaked noisily as the solid wooden door slammed shut behind her.

Hurling the rune with all his strength against the closed portal, Keir turned and clambered up onto the bench. Cursing, he grasped the bars on the window. Looking down at the loch below, he watched until he saw Raine walking beside the conniving rebel who’d pretended to believe in her visions.

Keir’s heart thudded painfully as he gripped the iron bars with whitened knuckles. “I’ll come for you, MacMurchaidh!” he roared, his voice hoarse with fury and disillusionment. “I swear by God I’ll come for you! And when I do I’ll kill you!”

The pair turned in tandem and looked up at Keir. Tears streamed down Raine’s face, but her resolve remained apparent in her stiffened posture. Then they continued across the gangplank and onto the ship. The galley slipped its moorings and sailed north toward the Isle of Lewis and Steòrnabhagh, its white sails filling in the steady breeze.

Shortly afterward, the MacRanald galley also set sail, heading eastward toward Castle Stalcaire, in the Highlands, carrying Keir’s letter to his family along with his captor’s request for a payment of ransom.

Keir slid down onto the bench. Crouched over in bitterness, he clenched his fists on his knees. How could Raine have ignored his commands and gone with his sworn enemy?

Doubt seared Keir’s heart like a corrosive acid.

Maybe she’d only pretended to care.

Like every other female he’d ever bedded, ’twas possible Raine had merely wanted the thrill of lying with the infamous Black Beast’s Spawn.

F
OUR LONG, TEDIOUS
days passed before Keir caught a glimpse of the topgallant sails he’d been hoping to see on the eastern horizon. By the following dawn, the
Raven
, the
Dragon
, and the
Hawk
had sailed in line formation across the mouth of the loch, their gun ports open, their eighteen-pounders aimed directly at Castle Calbhaigh. When the ships’ cutters were lowered and rowed toward the sandy shore by three landing parties without a shot being fired, Keir knew the Clanranald banner had been struck from the battlements the moment the warships came into view.

Less than ten minutes later, the heavy door to Keir’s cell swung open. Allan MacRanald rushed in waving his hands excitedly. The two guards followed behind him, not a crossbow in sight.

“Laird MacNeil,” the stocky man cried, his eyes enormous in his fright, “I hope you understand that I harbor no ill will toward you, sir. I always meant to free you whether a ransom came or not.” MacRanald’s round, pink countenance faded to a pasty white. He turned to the two guards behind him. “Quick! Quick! Unfasten his chain, you fools!”

Keir waited impatiently while a guard fumbled clumsily, trying to get the key inside the manacle’s lock. The sound of boots pounding up the tower’s stone stairs seemed to turn the jailor’s thin fingers into pieces of wet straw.

With a ferocious glower on his bearded face, Macraith—resembling Woden, himself—appeared in the open doorway holding a two-headed boarding axe poised to strike. The moment he spied Keir being released from his chain, he lowered the weapon and grinned like a halflin with his first pony.

“Laddie!” he boomed, his deep gravelly voice echoing against the stones. “What in the hell are you doing here trussed up like a boar for the oven? Forbye, the last we saw, you and the lassie were swimming toward Ireland.”

The lock snapped open and the terrified jailor jumped back, hurrying to stand with his partner near the farthest wall. They kept their worried gazes fixed on the deadly axe in Macraith’s large hand, clearly aware he could take off one man’s head with his forward stroke and the other’s on his back swing.

Without a word, Keir rubbed his bruised wrist, bringing the blood back into his numb hand as he moved toward the door. His uncle tossed him his sheathed broadsword and belt, and Keir quickly fastened his weapon to his side. He took his dirk and jammed it into the leather belt.

“Your boots are on the
Raven
along with your dagger,” Macraith said with a chuckle, unperturbed by his nephew’s cold, enraged silence. “So you’ll have to come aboard in your bare feet. But boots or nay, Adam Wyllie will pipe you over the side like you’re the king’s own brother.”

Allan MacRanald’s pudgy knees visibly knocked under the hem of his red-and-blue kilt. He folded his hands together as though in prayer. “Surely you understand, Laird MacNeil,” he said, his jowls wobbling in his fright, “that I never wished you ill. ’Twas Laird MacMurchaidh who wanted you dead. Not I! Never I! I never entertained the idea for a second.”

With an annoyed grunt, Keir shoved the cowardly traitor out of his way, as he exited the prison and started down the tower steps.

“What should I do with the wee, fat laird here?” Macraith hollered from the top of the stairs, casually bracing the large wooden axe handle on his wide shoulder.

“Leave him for now,” Keir said. “MacRanald can swear his oath of fealty to the king or we’ll take him along as a prisoner.” He paused and looked back up at his uncle. “How did you find me so soon?”

“We were stopping every ship we came across in the hopes they’d rescued you and Lady Raine during the storm. ’Tis how we intercepted MacRanald’s galley carrying the ransom letter addressed to Lady Emma MacNeil.”

At that moment, Fearchar appeared at the bottom of the stairwell. With a black patch covering one eye and the good blue eye twinkling benignly, the seven-foot giant smiled at Keir and touched the back of his fingers to his battle-scarred forehead in a pirate’s salute.

“We’ve secured the castle,” he reported with unruffled serenity. “The women and children have been herded into the keep. If you listen closely, lad, you can hear their caterwauling all the way to the top of the tower.”

His sword at the ready, Colin came to stand beside Fearchar. “We’ve nay found Lady Raine,” he said, his freckled brow creased with worry. “We’ve searched everywhere. The ladies swore to me that Raine was here but she’s been gone for several days.”

“They’re right,” Keir said, his words clipped and short as he joined them at the bottom of the stairs. “Lady Raine isn’t here any longer.” He was livid with himself for his failure to safeguard Raine and humiliated to have to admit it to Colin.

“Not here?” Colin stared at Keir, clearly appalled. “My God, what happened to her?”

“She’s nay been harmed,” Keir answered tersely.

Shocked, the tall redhead met Keir’s gaze and belatedly had the sense to stop asking ill-considered questions.

After Fearchar and Colin left to oversee the crews’ return to their ships, Macraith came to walk beside Keir on his way to the captain’s cutter. “Where’s Lady Raine?” his uncle asked in a worried tone.

“She went with MacMurchaidh,” Keir gritted, the rage still boiling inside. “Raine thinks that traitorous bastard is her father.”

“Is he?”

“How the hell should I know?”

Chapter 21

O
N FIRST COMING
aboard the
Raven
at Castle Calbhaigh, Keir studied the navigational charts with Abid al-Rahman, who immediately set their course for the Isle of Lewis. Next Keir inspected the cannon with Apollonius and ordered the eighteen-pounders unleashed from their double frappings so the gun crews could resume their daily afternoon drills. Then he’d gone over the needed repairs with Macraith and the ship’s burly carpenter. The galleon had weathered the violent storm passably well, not considering the two seamen lost and the cracked top mainmast that had to be replaced.

Initially a pall had fallen over the ship once the seamen realized that Lady Raine hadn’t come aboard with Keir. Their cheers of welcome had tapered into disheartened silence. Gloomy faces stared at their captain in disbelief, unwilling to even consider that the precious lassie might have been lost at sea. Upon learning she’d survived but remained in the custody of the villainous chief of Clan MacMurchaidh, the entire crew worked furiously to slip the moorings and get under way as quickly as possible.

Keir felt the full impact of their justified censure. Even Ethan and Robbie looked at him with grave disappointment on their young faces. Yet no one felt Keir’s failure to protect Raine more keenly than he did.

On the afternoon of the second day, the three galleons passed the Sound of Harris on the larboard side without spying so much as an inch of Sassenach sail. They were now flying before the wind, northward through the Little Minch.

That second dark night lit by only a sliver of moon, Keir stood on the quarterdeck gazing up at Ursa Major and remembering how enthusiastic Raine had been, learning the constellations. Her vivacity and intelligence made all other women seem dull and ignorant in comparison. He’d spent the previous night on deck. Sleeping alone in his large bed proved impossible. The memories of lying with Raine, her slender body cuddled against his, brought a knot to his throat, making it painful to swallow.

He refused to dwell on her betrayal.

Like a clumsy idiot, he’d opened himself up for that inevitable kick in the teeth. Christ almighty, he had no one to blame but himself. He’d actually begun to hope that Raine cared about him—not loved him, nay, not that—but certainly desired him physically and wanted to stay with him. But even her fanciful belief in the faery enchantment at Calanais hadn’t kept her beside him for long.

Ignoring the ache in his gut, Keir told himself ’twas all for the best.

How could a man trust a female who refused to follow his advice, let alone obey his commands? Tenacious, willful and fearless, with her head stuffed with faeries dancing around standing stones and the magical power of ancient runes, Raine Cameron would always be traipsing off, following some illogical whim in the belief she’d seen it all in a dream. Leaving her distraught husband standing all alone with his teeth kicked in.

T
HREE DAYS OUT
of Loch Baghasdail, the
Black Raven
and her sister ships raced along under a full press of canvas, making twelve knots with easy grace. On the quarterdeck Keir looked up into the yards, satisfied that every square sail had been hauled tight as the cover on a drum. The fair wind made scarcely a sigh in the taut rigging. Putting his hand on a line to gauge its tension, he glanced back toward the stern railing. The
Sea Dragon
and
Sea Hawk
followed in close line formation.

For the past three days Keir had barely spoken to anyone, leaving Macraith to issue orders, al-Rahman to chart their course, and Apollonius to lead the gunnery practice. The entire crew crept about making as little noise as possible whenever their captain came on deck. His wretched inner pain must have shown on his usually stoic face, for even the ship’s exuberant boys tiptoed quietly around him.

Late that third afternoon, Macraith joined Keir as he came down the steps of the quarterdeck. They walked along the gangway to his cabin for the evening meal in companionable silence.

Deep in his own thoughts, Keir barely heard Macraith speaking as they sat down at the table, until he caught the words
Lady Raine
.

Frowning, Keir looked across the board at his uncle and tried to ignore the acute sensation that his heart had just been sliced up like mincemeat for a pie at the mere sound of her name. “Sorry,” Keir apologized, “I didn’t quite catch what you were saying.”

“I’m saying that you need nay blame yourself, laddie,” Macraith replied as he leaned back to let Hector place a steaming lamb pastry in front of him. “The good Lord alone kens what you could have done to keep MacMurchaidh from taking the lassie with him, seeing as how you were pegged to the stones of that damn prison cell.”

Keir waited for his own plate to be set in front of him, then nodded to Hector. “That’ll be all,” he said, and watched the young man leave the cabin.

Since his initial outburst at Castle Calbhaigh, Keir had refrained from mentioning Raine’s treachery again—not even to his uncle. “Aye,” he agreed, his jaw tight with anger, “had I not been chained to the wall, I would have killed that wretched traitor on the spot. But what rankles most is that Raine may have left with my enemies of her own free will.”

“Are you certain of that?” Macraith asked. His scarred brow furrowed in disbelief.

“Raine believes that she’s seen MacMurchaidh in her dreams,” Keir replied. He tried to ignore the painful feel of his heart banging against his ribs like broken main chains in a storm. “She insists that Torcall is her real father, not Gideon Cameron.”

Stunned, Macraith slumped back in his chair. “I can scarcely believe it,” he said softly. “I thought . . . well, never mind what I thought. When we reach Steòrnabhagh, what is it exactly you intend to do?”

Keir spoke through clenched teeth, his voice ragged with hatred. “Either MacMurchaidh and Donald Dubh surrender unconditionally or I’ll kill them both on the spot.”

“I was speaking of Lady Raine.”

The softly uttered words came like a blow to his gut. Briefly Keir covered his eyes with his hand, then looked up to meet his uncle’s concerned gaze. “Do I have a choice? I’ll take her home to her family, where she belongs.”

“Dod, man, we always have a choice. What if Raine refused to go willingly with MacMurchaidh? The scoundrel may have coerced the lass into leaving with him in order to keep you alive. ’Tis not such a farfetched notion. Other men have been known to abduct defenseless females against their will.”

Keir gave a harsh laugh. “Are you referring to MacMurchaidh or the Black Beast of Barra?”

Macraith leaned forward and rested his folded arms on the table. His dark brown eyes grew serious. “My older brother was merciless in battle,” he said, his words somber, “but Ruaidh was no more a beast than you or I, laddie. His enemies hung that goddamn title on him, not his friends. And most certainly not his family.”

“That’s nay what I’d been told,” Keir said. Pushing his chair back, he rose and strode restlessly to the rear of his quarters. He leaned his hand on the window frame and gazed out at the darkening sky with unseeing eyes.

Macraith followed to stand beside him. He placed his large hand on Keir’s shoulder. “And is that why you think you’re nay worthy to be Raine Cameron’s bridegroom?” he asked, his gruff voice creaky with compassion. “Because you’ve been labeled the spawn of a beast?”

Keir looked up absently at Polaris twinkling above them. “Since I was no more than a halflin, I’ve been told I’m the spirit and image of my father. What does that make me but a beast?” Keir met his uncle’s concerned gaze and shrugged. “In my own defense, I’ve never abducted and raped a woman. Nor forced her to marry me and give birth to my unwanted child.”

Macraith stared at him, clearly appalled. “What makes you think that Ruaidh did any such thing?”

Racked with humiliation, Keir recalled the painful childhood memories. “I learned the truth about my father when I was eight years old.”

Macraith’s sea-weathered features revealed his shock. “Surely,” he gasped, “Lady Emma never told you any such thing!”

Keir shook his head. “My mother never said one unkind word about Ruaidh Athaeuch MacNeil. ’Twas a kinsman who took great delight in telling me the whole sordid tale.” He leaned his shoulder against the window frame and crossed his arms, gazing across the cabin with unseeing eyes. “Shortly after Ruaidh died in battle, my father’s cousin offered to train me in the use of the sword. While parrying with me, he proceeded to speak disparagingly of my parents. I became so enraged that I disarmed and nearly killed him.” Keir lifted one shoulder dismissively. “I was always big for my age.”

“Ah,” Macraith said, nodding in understanding. “It runs in the family. And was your inept tutor Silas MacNeil?”

Keir met his uncle’s steady gaze, surprised that he could guess so quickly. “Aye,” he concurred, “Silas predicted I’d grow to be as cruel and callous as Ruaidh.”

“What else did that miserable poltroon tell you?”

Keir fought the same sickening feeling he’d felt as a lad suffering from the recent death of his father. “That my mother had been brought to Barra against her will. That my father had forced her into marriage. That she detested him but stayed at Kisimuth Castle to protect her baby son. That my birth caused her unimaginable pain.”

Incredulous, Macraith’s deep voice roughened in anger. “And you never questioned Lady Emma about all this?”

“How could I?” Keir asked. “I believed any mention of my father’s mistreatment would cause her needless anguish. I wondered how she could love me, when I was the source of such unhappiness. I’d assumed that I was the reason she stayed at Barra until Ruaidh died on the battlefield.”

“Did you never speak of it to your brothers?”

“At the time, Rory was sixteen and Lachlan, thirteen. They were both fostered and lived elsewhere. Later, when we were adults, I felt too ashamed to confide that I was the product of our mother’s brutal rape.”

“Blood and bones!” Macraith exclaimed. “What else did that lying whelp tell you?”

“Silas predicted that I’d grow up to be exactly like Ruaidh—a crude, rough sea pirate who’d have to abduct a wife, for no gently born lady would ever willingly marry a beast like me.”

Macraith dropped into the chair by the game table in front of the stern windows. “Sit down, lad,” he said, pointing to the chair across from him. Once Keir was seated, he continued.

“As to the abduction,” Macraith said, “it may or may not be true. I’d heard the rumors when Lady Emma appeared so suddenly at Kisimuth Castle. Ruaidh was prone to act on the spur of the moment and then rue his impetuous behavior in leisure. But I never once, by word or gesture, saw him behave unkindly toward Lady Emma.” He shrugged. “Only your lovely mother could say what happened in the privacy of their rooms, but I sincerely doubt that your father forced himself on her. Forbye, ’twas clear to everyone that Ruaidh fairly doted upon his sonsy bride. Had she claimed ‘up was down,’ he’d have agreed with a smile.”

Stunned, Keir stared at his uncle. “All this time I believed that Silas had told me the truth. Even when I looked back as an adult, there seemed to be no reason for my father’s cousin to lie to a grieving child about his dead parent.”

“My guess would be jealousy,” Macraith said. He stroked his long beaded beard thoughtfully. “Silas always resented that your father was chief of Clan MacNeil. And who knows, maybe he wanted your mother for himself after Ruaidh’s death and she spurned him.”

Keir grinned at the possibility. “Soon after my father’s burial, Mother took me to Stalcaire Castle to live with her brother.”

“Aye, your Uncle Duncan Stewart! A fine man!” Macraith said, his wide grin splitting his moustache and beard. “Perchance by now, he’s succeeded in finalizing your contract of marriage with the maid of Strathfillan.”

At the unexpected remark, Keir jumped to his feet. “Jesu!” he cried, wondering how he’d ever thought ’twould be a wise decision to wed Mariota MacNab. He met his uncle’s twinkling eyes and grinned back at him. “Let’s finish our supper,” he said, gesturing to their abandoned meal on the table. “After which I need to write a letter to Duncan explaining there’s been a change of plans.”

Macraith’s good-natured laughter boomed out, filling the cabin and bouncing off the walls. “Hell and thunder, laddie! ’Twill cost you a pretty farthing to get out of that contract and nay be skinned alive!”

Castle Murchaidh

Steòrnabhagh Harbor

Isle of Lewis, Outer Hebrides

H
IGH ON THE
battlement walk, Raine could see across the harbor to the town of Steòrnabhagh. Guarding the entrance to the bay, Arnish Point was clearly visible in the afternoon sun and far beyond lay the tiny fishing village of Sanndabhaig with its few small stone crofts. She smiled to herself, remembering the kindness of the fisher wife and her husband who’d so gallantly taken her aboard his yellow sailboat.

Laird MacMurchaidh’s galley lay moored not far from the road leading up the green sloping bank to the ancient castle. The great oared ship wouldn’t be there for long, however. Donald Dubh Macdonald and a few loyal men would sail in the morning for the safety of Ireland. News had reached the castle of the capitulation of the other rebellious chiefs, leaving Torcall as the last supporter of the self-proclaimed lord of the Isles.

Since arriving at the castle a week ago, Raine had made a habit of wandering along the battlements. She wanted to get away from the solar and its bevy of unfamiliar women who engaged her with distant politeness.

Raine suspected that Torcall had warned the ladies of the castle to treat his female guest kindly or they’d be punished. Certainly, no one had mistreated her during her stay. Yet her attempts to speak to Torcall had been spurned repeatedly. She’d had the sickening realization that her father may have taken her with him solely to use her as a hostage.

“Oh, there you are, Lady Raine,” Amie MacMurchaidh called out. “I thought I’d see if you’d like some company.”

The young daughter of Laird Torcall and Lady Catriona, Amie possessed a bubbly disposition. Only thirteen, she laughed and chattered easily with anyone who’d listen.