Black Raven's Lady: Highland Lairds Trilogy (26 page)

“Thank you,” Raine replied and gave the lass a welcoming smile. “Indeed, I’d be pleased if you’d join me.”

Amie slipped her arm through Raine’s, and they walked together along the battlement, passing guards who bowed their heads in deference. “Father says you’re our special guest, since you’re the daughter of a dear friend from his youth. Were they very good friends, do you think?”

“Oh, I think so,” Raine told her. “My mother knew your father quite well, I believe.”

Amie’s wide brown eyes sparkled. “Then that makes us almost kin,” she said with a happy gurgle. “I have lots of cousins, but no one nearly as pretty as you. I’ve never seen anyone with black eyes before nor such beautiful long black curls.”

Raine tried to ignore the uneasiness inside, a disquiet that had increased with each passing day. “Do none of your brothers or sisters have black hair like mine?”

“Oh, nay,” Amie answered, giggling at the thought. “I have two half-brothers, for my father was married twice before, and both their mothers died. But I’m the only one with dark brown hair and eyes exactly like our father.”

At the sound of footsteps on the stone battlement, they turned in unison. “There’s Father now!” Amie exclaimed.

Laird Torcall drew closer, and the lass hurried toward him. With a welcoming smile, he put his arm around her shoulders, bent his head and kissed her brow. “Are you entertaining our guest?” he asked her fondly.

“I was telling Lady Raine how pretty she is,” Amie told him with a happy little laugh. “Don’t you think so, Father?”

Torcall met Raine’s gaze and smiled. “I do, indeed,” he said. “I can see the similarity to her mother’s nose and mouth and her flawless skin.”

Seeing them standing side by side, Raine could discern the startling resemblance between father and daughter. Amie’s youthful features were much softer and clearer, but the facial structure was the same, the wide brow and high cheekbones along with the strong chin.

Raine felt a ghost of doubt pass through her. She grew painfully aware that Torcall’s dark brown hair and eyes certainly weren’t jet-black like hers. Nor did she have his identical features like Amie. For the first time since leaving Archnacarry Manor, Raine began to question the meaning of her vision. Her heart beat a rapid drum roll, calling forth a rush of uncertainty.

Could it be the Tuatha De Danann had sent her on a fool’s errand?

His arm wrapped loosely around Amie’s tiny waist, Laird Torcall came to stand in front of Raine. “I trust you’ve been made welcome,” he said warmly. “As you must know, I’ve been very busy with my other guest.”

“Everyone has been most kind,” Raine answered, her mind racing in her confusion.

Torcall and Raine had exchanged no more than mere pleasantries since leaving Calbhaigh. Each time Raine tried to approach him, he told her sharply that her questions would have to wait. The success of the rebellion outweighed all other considerations. While onboard the galley, he and Donald Dubh had spent most of the voyage in quiet, seemingly desperate conversations. Upon reaching the castle, the two men had been closeted together all week long.

Never once had Torcall given Raine an opportunity to ask about his relationship with her mother. In fact, this was the first time Torcall had mentioned Raine’s mother, even obliquely, since the day he’d found Raine on the beach after the storm. ’Twas as though he’d purposely avoided the mention of Lady Nina or his love for her since expressing his hatred for Gideon Cameron.

Torcall turned to look out over the sheltering harbor, his gaze roaming across the calm waters to Arnish Point, where a cannon emplacement protected the narrow entrance.

“This is a good vantage place to watch for intruders,” he said, his quiet voice sounding unconcerned by the inevitable siege to come. “My sentries stand on the battlements day and night.” He looked back at Raine and smiled once more. “But no strange sails today.”

“They will come,” she told him bluntly. “Once Laird MacNeil is ransomed by his family, he’ll bring his ships here, and my visit will come to an end. If there is anything you wish to tell me, Laird Torcall, ’twould be better spoken sooner rather than later.”

“There’s no need to speak of what is better left unsaid,” he told her, his firm voice warning her not to question his decision in front of his youngest child.

Raine’s hopes for an open acknowledgement that she was his daughter were crushed. Torcall had no intention of upsetting his family by the intrusion of an illegitimate offspring into their midst. She could understand his reservations, but that didn’t ease the heartrending ache of complete and utter rejection.

She’d found her father but her quest had been in vain.

What she’d really sought was her father’s love.

Fighting back tears, she lifted her chin and met his gaze. “At least we’ve had the chance to get to know each other,” she said.

“Aye,” he answered softly. His gaze conveyed his sympathy but nothing more. “Meeting Lady Nina’s lovely daughter has touched me deeply. I was very fond of your sweet mother in my green years, and her memory has remained in my heart.” He looked down at his brown-eyed daughter and gave her a paternal squeeze. “Now, lassies, shall we proceed to the hall? I believe the midday meal will soon be set on the tables.”

Raine’s inner pain nearly brought her to her knees. ’Twas as though her heart was sobbing for the loss of a dream. A dream of meeting her natural father one day. A father who’d joyously welcome her into his arms and into his life.

Glancing over her shoulder at the fishing boats sailing across the calm harbor, Raine joined Laird Torcall and Amie to walk down the tower steps to the great hall.

T
HAT EVENING
R
AINE
returned to the battlements. Looking up at the starry summer sky, she located Ursa Major—the Great Bear. She smiled at the memory of Keir teaching her how to recognize the constellations. Along with the Gibson brothers’ high-spirited attempts to help, Keir had told her the story of Hera, the wife of Zeus, who—in a jealous fit—turned her husband’s ladylove, Callisto, into a bear.

Raine smiled to herself at her own similar folly. She’d felt the same blind jealousy toward Lady Flora Sutherland at Dùn Bheagain Castle.

On the night Keir and Raine had visited the standing stones of Calanais, he’d taught her the story of the Seven Sisters, whom Jupiter had changed into doves.

Now, Raine searched the myriad of stars spread across the black velvet sky, until she found Orion chasing the Pleiades across the heavens.

That same night, Keir had kissed her for the first time. And the faeries had wrapped an enchantment around them to form a bond of love that would last forever—or so she’d believed at the time.

Dear Lord above, how things had changed.

Keir had been so enraged when Raine left with Laird Torcall and Donald Dubh, he’d roared death threats from the barred cell window. She wondered if Keir still desired her, or if his anger had poisoned his feelings toward her.

Raine had been so certain that Torcall MacMurchaidh was her father. She’d never imagined that he’d refuse to acknowledge his natural daughter in order to protect the harmony within his legitimate family.

Somewhere in the Outer Hebrides, Keir was studying the stars tonight. Hopefully he’d been freed from the prison cell and was even now sailing toward Steòrnabhagh. Raine had no doubt he’d take the castle and when he did, he’d kill Torcall—unless she could intervene to save his life.

It didn’t matter that Raine’s father had refused to recognize her as his child. Or that he might be planning to use her as a hostage should the need arise. She couldn’t willingly stand by and let him be killed. Which meant, of course, that Keir would never forgive her for defending his sworn enemy, the traitorous chief of Clan MacMurchaidh.

Raine’s eyes filled with tears. The bright twinkling stars overhead seemed to blur into the soft glow of a ship’s lantern, the lantern that had hung in Keir’s quarters on the night he’d taken her into his bed. As the tears ran down her cheeks, Raine’s heart seemed to shrivel inside with the bitter ache of disillusionment.

How had everything gone so wrong?

Chapter 22

K
EIR MET WITH
his captains and their lieutenants in the starboard watch’s mess. The
Raven
, the
Hawk
, and the
Dragon
had hove to in a sheltering inlet along the eastern coast of the Isle of Lewis. A map of Steòrnabhagh’s harbor lay spread across the long rectangular table in front of them.

Keir looked at his three most seasoned veterans. Macraith MacNeil sat beside him. Directly across, Fearchar MacLean and Walter MacRath waited intently. The trio of hardened warriors were experienced not just in sea battles, but also at infiltrating the enemy’s land defenses in stealth and with lethal skill.

Keir knew he could count on Tam MacLean and Colin MacRath, seated on either side of their ferocious kinsmen, to make up in strength and courage what they lacked in experience.

Standing behind Keir, Abid al-Rahman, Adam Wyllie, Apollonius the Greek, and Hector MacFarlane listened to their captain’s plans with unwavering concentration. Wyllie had been the
Raven
’s bosun since the day the ship was launched. At seventeen, Hector was young, but ’twas time for the midshipman to get a taste of leading men into battle. One day he’d be captain of his own merchantman and would have to fight off pirate attacks on the open sea. Meeting their earnest gazes, Keir knew he could count on each and every man present.

“We risk the safety of Lady Raine if we immediately attempt to bombard the castle into submission,” Keir told them. “I have no knowledge of how MacMurchaidh has treated her—whether as a guest or a prisoner. Or if the bastard intends to use the lass as a hostage, should we begin a siege. We must therefore assume the worst and make our plans accordingly.”

“Which means we’ll have to penetrate the keep at the same time we start our bombardment,” Macraith said.

“Aye,” Fearchar agreed. “The castle is surrounded by a dense woods. If we come through the trees, we can scale the rear walls unnoticed. That’s depending we have a big enough diversion in the harbor. We’ll need the ships’ initial volleys to draw every MacMurchaidh soldier to the front battlements.”

Bending over the map, Macraith pointed to the outcrop that guarded the entrance to the bay. “A small party can spike the guns on Arnish Point first,” he said, his beaded side-braids swinging gently as he leaned over the charts. “That way we can silence the lookouts before they give a warning shot.”

“It worked before,” Colin agreed. Excitement at the prospect of hand-to-hand combat rang in his voice. His blue eyes shone with anticipation as he glanced at his father.

“First we need to send the infiltrating party well ahead of our ships,” Walter cautioned. He rubbed a gnarled forefinger alongside his big broken nose as he looked at Keir in speculation. “How do you propose to get close enough to the castle without being seen? Travel overland from here?”

“ ’Tis a good twenty miles,” Macraith added, “but we could do it easily enough.”

Keir shook his head at the suggestion they tramp across the countryside. “Going overland would take too much of our precious time,” he said, “and some nosey crofter could give a hue and cry and warn the fortress.”

“What then?” Walter asked, curiosity written on his broad, blunt features.

“We’re going to approach the castle grounds in a fishing boat,” Keir told them with a grin. “ ’Tis the only way we can get across the open harbor without being noticed. We’ll sail just before dawn when the fishermen usually start out to sea for their day’s catch. Only instead of sailing out of the harbor, we’ll be sailing past Arnish Point in the direction of the town docks.”

“It could work, laddie,” Fearchar said. He readjusted his black eye patch and studied the map thoughtfully. “Right before sunrise the harbor is usually bustling with fishing craft.”

Keir’s oldest brother, Rory, had sailed the
Sea Dragon
with both Fearchar and Tam aboard into Steòrnabhagh’s harbor before the current rebellion. They were well acquainted with the lay of the land surrounding the fortress.

“How do we steal a fisherman’s boat without causing an uproar in the town?” Tam asked.

“I don’t think we’re going to steal one, are we?” Colin interjected. His intelligent eyes alight in his freckled face, the redhead smiled knowingly.

“We’re not,” Keir agreed. He tapped his fingertip on the tiny dot that marked the village of Sanndabhaig. “We’re going to hire a certain fisherman’s sailboat. I don’t doubt that he’ll be willing to take us across the bay to the castle grounds for the right price.”

“Aye,” Walter said, his wide grin revealing his chipped front tooth. “If any man has the stones to sail his wee boat right up to the castle’s grassy bank, ’tis the pawky fisherman who took Lady Raine’s gold in return for a ride across the harbor right under our noses—and us with our gun ports open.”

The men chuckled as they recalled the incredible sight of the yellow fishing boat sailing past the three warships bristling with guns.

“After we’ve had enough time to scale the walls and get inside,” Keir continued, “I want our galleons to sail in battle formation into the harbor and begin bombardment.” He met each man’s gaze, including Apollonius. “Make certain your best gunners measure the range with exact precision. Set your sights for the outer walls and the main gate and portcullis. Castle Murchaidh is one of the oldest fortresses in the Hebrides. Its outdated ordnance can’t match our advanced artillery. Nor will it withstand much pummeling. Once you’ve knocked a hole through the mortar and stones, send the landing parties to take the outer bailey.”

“Who’s going with you in the sailboat?” Tam queried. He pushed his long golden hair back away from his handsome MacLean face, clearly hoping he’d be one of the lucky fellows chosen for the daring assignment.

“I’m taking Macraith, Fearchar, Walter and al-Rahman,” Keir replied, knowing the younger men would be disappointed. It couldn’t be helped. When it came to rescuing Raine unharmed, he refused to take any more chances than necessary.

“That’s all the men you’re taking?” Colin asked with a frown. He ran his long, thin fingers through his coppery hair in apparent frustration.

“Just the five of us,” Keir reiterated. “We’ve done this before. We can move swiftly and silently into the castle. I want to locate Lady Raine first. Then we’ll hunt down MacMurchaidh and Donald Dubh, while the rest of you storm through the curtain walls and into the bailey. Their soldiers will put up a stiff resistance, so you’ll all get a taste of battle, never fear.”

K
EIR STOOD IN
the woods looking up at Castle Murchaidh’s ancient walls. Armed with his claymore and spiked targe slung across his back, broadsword sheathed at his side, dirk in his belt, and dagger hidden in his short hose, he carried a long rope with a grappling hook over his shoulder.

The fact that the trees had been allowed to grow so close to the fortress gave silent testimony to just how remote and inaccessible the chief of Clan MacMurchaidh believed his lair remained. And that in spite of the fact that Cairn na Burgh—protected by the choppy seas of the Treshnish Isles and once deemed secure from the king’s wrath—had fallen beneath the guns of the royal fleet earlier that summer.

Similarly armed, Macraith, Fearchar, Walter, and al-Rahman stood beside Keir and waited for the signal to leave the cover of the woods and scale the high stone walls.

They didn’t have long to wait.

In the quiet of early morning, startled cries of alarm carried across the length of the parapets above them. The three warships had been sighted sailing past Arnish Point and into the wide bay.

Just as Keir had foreseen, the guards raced along the battlement walks toward the main gate of the castle, which faced the wide natural harbor. The town of Steòrnabhagh lay to the left along the coastline, close to where Keir’s small party had landed in the bright yellow fishing boat just before daybreak.

The thundering booms of the galleons’ first salvos carried on the harbor’s breeze to the five waiting men hidden in the woods.

“Let’s go,” Keir said. He led them out of the trees and up to the base of the curtain wall.

Using his great height and immense strength, Fearchar tossed the grappling hook to the edge of the parapet far above their heads. After testing the hook’s stability, first Keir and then Fearchar pulled himself up, hand over hand, feet braced against the stones, to the top of the battlement wall and over the parapet’s edge. One by one Macraith, Walter and al-Rahman followed them in a feat of power and endurance worthy of much younger men.

Moving in silence, Keir motioned for them to spread out along the stone walkway in both directions, searching for any guards who’d lingered behind their comrades.

In startled surprise Fearchar came upon a large brute of a fellow rushing toward the sound of artillery fire coming from the bay. The seven-foot giant and the distracted guard crashed into each other. Before the confused soldier emitted a sound, Fearchar caught the man’s chin in his left hand, completely covering the open mouth, and jerked the helmeted head back—then neatly slit the exposed throat with the dagger held in his right hand. In a matter of seconds the wide-eyed corpse dropped to the stone walkway at the pirate’s feet.

The five intruders proceeded quickly to the tower’s archway. Keir cautiously pulled a heavy wooden door open, and they moved soundlessly along a narrow, winding passage. At its end a sentry stood with his back to them.

Before the unsuspecting sentinel realized his danger, Keir picked the man up, brought him lengthwise across his bent knee and neatly popped his backbone. Despite the guard’s steel breastplate, his spine snapped like a piece of dry kindling.

Three more soldiers had the unfortunate luck of standing in their path and were left with their throats slashed, their life’s blood draining out onto the stones in puddles.

Working their way upward in stealthy silence till they were high in the keep’s tower, the intruders, liberally splashed with blood, entered the ladies’ solar—four with their broadswords drawn, the fifth holding his huge scimitar. The already frightened females, who’d been clustered together in a tight bunch, shrieked and tore about the room like hens in a coop invaded by a weasel.

“Silence!” Fearchar roared. “Blood and bones, women. Be quiet! You’ve nay been hurt. Yet.”

Two ladies fainted on the spot—whether at the sight and sound of the massive pirate with his black eye patch and battle-scarred features or the exotic Moor dressed in an embroidered caftan and loose trousers and brandishing an enormous curved sword over his bald head, Keir couldn’t tell.

But he grinned at the ludicrous scene. At least there were two men alive more frightening to look at than he was himself.

R
AINE STOOD
IN
front of the solarium’s round stained-glass window watching her rescuer enter with his ferocious privateers. The chief of Clan MacNeil, magnificent in his green-and-black kilt, held his lethal broadsword in his large hand. His blue-black hair fell loose to his powerful shoulders, the two side-braids tied with leather thongs. His blunt-cut features, sliced and broken in battle, concealed his tenderness as a lover. A tenderness she’d come to know so well.

Raine’s heart leapt with a thrill of admiration as he scanned the panicked, screaming females, searching for her. Across the chaotic room she met Keir’s gaze, praying to God he’d forgive her for running off with his enemies.

The moment he saw Raine, he sheathed his weapon and hurried to her. “You’ve nay been hurt?” Keir asked, his familiar baritone tight and strained. The concern in his eyes revealed what she’d longed to know—that he still cared in spite of her treachery.

“Aye,” she whispered, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I’ve been well treated.”

“Thank God.” With a smile of heart-stopping gentleness, Keir enfolded her in his embrace.

The relief of being in his protective arms made her suddenly breathless. “Oh, my darling,” Raine said, gasping for air as she lifted her face to his. “I’m so sorry.”

He held her tight against his solid frame for a few brief moments, then released her. “We’ll speak of this later,” Keir said, so quietly only she could hear. He kissed the top of her head. “Stay in the solar with the other women. I’ll leave al-Rahman to guard you.”

“There’s no need for that,” Raine assured him. “I’ll be quite safe with the other ladies. They’ve been very kind to me.”

He looked around the room. Most of the women had sought a chair or a bench and now sat quietly waiting, convinced for the moment they were in no imminent danger. A few had even resumed their abandoned needlework, possibly in an attempt to calm themselves. “Then remain here until I come for you,” Keir ordered, his gruff words conveying absolute authority.

Raine knew better than to argue.

Her heart stuttered in dread as she waited for Keir and his men to leave and continue their search for Donald Dubh Macdonald and Torcall MacMurchaidh.

She couldn’t remain safely in the solarium, as Keir had ordered.

Not now.

Raine had to find her father before Keir found him.

O
UTSIDE THE SOLA
R,
the men split up. Fearchar, Walter, and al-Rahman started down the stairway to search for Donald Dubh in the castle’s private apartments. The usurper’s life was far too valuable to the rebellion’s cause to risk his death in the siege.

Keir and his uncle raced to the top of the inner battlements and looked out over the fortress and the harbor beyond. As he’d predicted, the castle’s ponderous culverins, locked in position in their keyhole gun ports, proved no match for the ships’ eighteen-pounders on their pivoting mounts. The punishing broadsides from the three galleons had come to a halt and thick yellow-gray smoke drifted across the water, bringing the acrid stink of sulphur. The sound of battle cries rang out as the landing parties poured through the holes that had been punched in the ancient castle’s curtain walls.

The MacNeil battle cry carried above the clang and smash of weapons.

Buaidh na Bàs!
Victory or Death!