Highland Master (10 page)

He did not even wait to see if they would join him but started to run toward the village. The sound of booted feet on the ground told him he was not alone, though he was not sure how many men were following him. With every step he took, he feared he would find her gone, and was not surprised to find no one in the village. It had been Grant, of that he had no doubt, but the attack had come much sooner than they had anticipated. Triona had believed the man would be cautious for a while after having his men caught stealing, but it had been only three days.

Brian arrived with horses as Brett searched the ground. He found where a struggle had taken place. There was a bucket with blood on it and some blood on the ground. He told himself that it was a man’s, that Triona had attempted to defend herself, but fear was a hard knot in his belly.

“So he finally just took the lass, aye?” said Brian.

“It appears so.” He watched Brian look over the ground and study the bucket for a moment. “I think that is from her attempt to hold them back.”

“So do I. The bucket is probably the one she used to clean the threshold stone. I would wager a few of those men are now wearing some bruises. But such a small lass couldnae hold them back for long, nay even long enough for us to get here. And we got here verra quickly.”

Brett was so startled that Brian would notice something like the fact that someone had been cleaning the threshold stone, he just stared at the man for a moment and then shook his head clear of the distraction. “So they cannae be far away.”

“I wouldnae think so, nay. So we go and fetch her back, do we?”

“Aye. Let us hope he is fool enough to think we will be slow to do so. This time we may just catch him doing something e’en his friends cannae excuse. She is, after all, considered the laird here, and one doesnae just grab a laird whenever one wishes to.”

“Unless that laird is an unwed lass and every mon hereabout believes she needs a mon to rule this place as it should be ruled.”

That was an ugly truth Brett did not want to think about at the moment, even though he was sure that the men of Banuilt did not think like that. He swung up into the saddle of the horse Brian had brought him and, with his gaze fixed upon the ground, began to follow the trail left by the men who had taken Triona. Just outside the village he saw that they had had horses waiting, and he cursed. They could follow that trail as well, but not move as swiftly as the men with Triona could while they did so, as they would be tracking them and would have to stop at times to check for signs. Even the arrival of Callum and Harcourt did not lift his spirits much.

“The mon has to be a bit mad,” said Brian as they cautiously rode along, keeping an eye on the trail left by Triona’s kidnappers.

“I suspect he has ne’er been verra sane as concerns Banuilt and the land he feels was stolen from his clan,” Brett said. “Mayhap trying to defeat a wee lass for nearly two years has finally pushed him deeper into that dark place.”

“If some of his kin were traitors to the king, as I heard they were, then the loss of a wee strip of land was merciful punishment. Most people would do their best to hide that dark part of their kin’s past, nay push to get back the penalty the fools had to pay and stir up everyone’s memories all over again.”

“Who kens how such a mon thinks? There doesnae need to be sound reasoning behind this, just his greed and sense of injustice done him and his family.”

“True. I also wondered if he was so ashamed of the cause of the loss of the land, the tale that there were traitors dangling from the family tree, that he sees getting the land back as a way to clean away that stain. A fool’s idea, but, then again, how can one e’er understand why a mon would do this.”

“’Tis surely a mad fool who treats such good allies this way.”

“Callum says this is really all Triona’s now. That cannae be disputed, e’en if too many men dinnae like a lass holding land. It is all in the way the deeds and such are written. He thinks it was done so because there was a sad lack of sons born to the McKees, and they didnae want the land passing out of their hands simply because all they had were daughters.”

“Yet the name lingers.”

“Made the men marrying one of their lasses take the name. Sir Boyd did so. Nay every family can produce sons like a MacFingal,” he drawled.

Brian grinned. “Weel, we have to be good at something in life, aye?”

Brett grinned and shook his head, but the brief respite from his fear for Triona was already fading. Sir John Grant wanted her and was obviously tired of waiting for her to come to him. He did not want to think about what might be happening to her in the man’s hands, but his mind was all too ready to show him.

“She will be weel and we will get her back,” said Brian.

“She had better be.”

“Have a fondness for the lass, do ye?”

“I like her and respect her. She cares for this land and her people. She doesnae deserve this.” He grimaced when Brian just grunted. “I am nay looking for a wife, so ye can just dim that glint in your eyes.”

“Ye are five and thirty. Do ye mean to die unwed and childless?”

“My clan willnae suffer if I dinnae have children. I had my chance once and it ended badly. I willnae do it again. I dinnae need another ghost to haunt me,” he muttered.

“We have all lost ones we loved, although I have been fortunate to nay lose many. Death comes when it chooses to and cares nay what we want.”

“Brenda, the lass I wanted to wed, found hers whilst coming to meet me. I will always carry the guilt for that.”

“Why? Did ye force her? Didnae she ken more about why it may nay be a good idea to slip out to meet ye and just how far someone in her family might go to stop her?”

“Nay, I didnae force her to meet me, just tempted her, and it wasnae her family who killed her but her family’s enemies. Some of them caught her out alone and beat her to death. She managed to live long enough to crawl to our meeting place, but then she died in my arms. She and my child that she was carrying.”

Brian sighed. “A sad ending, but I see nay reason for ye to be feeling guilty.”

“She was coming to meet me.”

“As hundreds of lassies have done for hundreds of years, and I suspicion some have died in the doing of it. She could have said nay, refused to slip around and lie to her kin in the doing of it. She could have even stood up and demanded she be able to choose her own mon instead of wedding the one her family chose for her. She also kenned more about the land, what was happening on it, and what dangers were there, than ye, I suspect. Nay, I still cannae see why ye continue to feel guilty about what happened. Sad, aye. Your fault? Nay, I dinnae see it.”

Brett wanted to ask why then did Brenda’s ghost still appear to him? He was afraid that Brian would begin to question his sanity, however. He often did himself. The fact that Brenda’s spirit appeared when he was abed with a woman, satisfying a man’s lusts, would probably make the man laugh, but Brett was all too aware of how chilling it was to a man’s passion. It was why he had been almost completely celibate for so long, the occasional attempt enough to reveal that the haunting had not stopped.

Seeing years of celibacy stretching out before him, Brett decided it might be time to talk to one of his kin. There were a few who claimed to be able to see the spirits of the dead. They might also be able to make those spirits go away. It was not just his ability to bed a woman that was suffering, but each time he saw the ghost, all his guilt returned in force. He might not agree with Brian’s opinion that he shared no guilt in what had happened to Brenda, but he did think seven years of suffering for it should be enough.

He looked toward Harcourt and Callum, who were following the trail left by the ones who had taken Triona. They had to be tired, as they had only just returned from yet another hunt, but they did not hesitate to help. Instead of resting after a long search for the garrison of Banuilt, they were here trying to find Triona. They had all gotten pulled into the need to solve her troubles, but it did not really surprise him: Banuilt was a place of mostly women and children, youths and old men, and it stirred a man to want to help. The fact that the troubles they suffered were inflicted by a man who was supposed to be their ally only added to that need.

“Someone needs to kill that mon,” muttered Brian.

“Aye, but sad and annoying as it is, one has to consider the trouble that would come of a nice, quick end to all this. The mon does have a lot of powerful friends.”

“So do the Murrays.”

“Verra true, and I have thought that, if this isnae ended soon, I would reach out to a few of them. All that allows this conflict to continue is that the ones Triona can turn to willnae accept the word of a woman o’er that of a mon they have claimed as a friend and ally. If naught else, that would so annoy the women in my clan they would push the men to get this ended.”

Brian laughed. “Aye, they would indeed. And it could be a good step to take if this cannae be stopped soon.”

“I had begun to think that
soon
would be after another theft or another field burned. Now, weel, we will see how Triona fares after this to determine whether I need to make use of all those powerful connections my family has made o’er the years.”

The arrogance of the man so stunned Triona that she could only gape at him, the words she wanted to say stuck in her throat. She then feared he was mad, that he had caught the fever that had so devastated their lands and had been left with some disorder of the mind. He had to know he could not get away with kidnapping her, that he was giving her the proof she needed to gain justice for Banuilt and put an end to his destructive games.

Or had he? she wondered, glancing around at the men who had dragged her to Sir John and dumped her on the ground at his feet. She did not recognize any of them as Gormfeurach men, although she could not really claim to know every one of those men by sight. Instinct, however, told her that these were not Sir John Grant’s clansmen. That meant that he had gotten himself some hirelings who would fade away once paid and dismissed.

“If ye think ye and your hired swords”—she noticed the fleeting look of surprise on Sir John’s face and knew she had guessed right—“can steal me from my land, force me afore a priest, and nay suffer some consequence for this madness, then ye have truly lost your wits, Sir John.”

Triona fought the urge to scramble backward when he glared at her and clenched his fists. She refused to cower before this man. It would only give him even more power over her. Her father had taught her how to deal with a man who tried to beat obedience into a child, and Boyd had taught her how to deal with a man who used aloof condescension to keep a woman under his boot. She had managed to do just as she pleased most of the time while under the rule of those men. What she wanted to do now was to get as far away from Sir John Grant as possible. All she needed was a small chance, a short moment of distraction on his part.

“Ye will wed me, lass,” he snapped. “’Tis the easiest, surest, and quickest way to get back the land your late husband’s first wife’s family stole from mine.”

“They didnae steal anything. The land was given to them by the king himself, a reward for saving him from some foolish plot your ancestors had devised. And they also saved most of your kin from dying for that foolishness. Wheesht, ye probably wouldnae be here if it were nay for the McKees.”

“All lies! Lies told by the McKees to get their greedy hands on the best part of Grant land! They used false accusations to fatten their own purses.”

“So it wasnae your kinsmon found standing o’er the king’s bed, sword in hand, and all ready to plunge it into the king’s heart?”

“’Twas nay but a madmon acting alone. The whole clan shouldnae have been made to suffer for what he tried to do.”

“Nay e’en the ones caught thieving from the king whilst that kinsmon went in to kill him? Or the one caught still working on the speech that would declare the king’s murderer the new king? Or the ones who slipped into the queen’s bedchamber, thinking to dishonor her and all the lasses serving her? Or . . .”

“Be quiet!”

Triona was not surprised when Sir John’s bellowed command echoed through the wood. The way his men glared at him or grimaced and shook their heads in disgust told her they shared her thought: Sir John had just sent out a clarion call to anyone out there looking for her. She prayed someone had been close enough to hear it.

“It will nay be easy to drag me before a priest, Sir John,” she said. “’Tis best if ye give this up right now. I said nay when ye first told me to marry ye, and I still say nay.”

“I dinnae have to drag ye anywhere. I brought a priest with me.”

She watched as he signaled to one of his men, who quickly ducked into a small tent and came back pulling along a tall, thin man with gray hair, a priest she recognized because he occasionally came to Banuilt when they desperately needed one. “Father Mollison!” She glared at Sir John. “Ye are forcing a poor village priest to commit this crime? Our own liege laird’s cousin?”

“I commit no crime,” said Sir John. “I but take a reluctant bride. It has been done before. E’en our liege laird thinks it wrong that ye, a lone woman, play at being a laird as if ye ken what needs doing. That will end today. Once wed and bedded, there will be no changing it, nay matter how loudly ye protest. I will become the laird of both Banuilt and Gormfeurach. Most men will congratulate me for doing what is both right and wise.”

There was too much truth in that statement to argue with it. The moment the vows were exchanged and a blessing given, even that could be enough to leave her bound to Sir John for the rest of her life. Bedding her would only affirm her fate. She would also find few if any allies when she tried to have the marriage ended simply because she had said no.

Her only hope was to delay the marriage for as long as possible. There had to be someone hunting for her, and she needed to still be unwed when they arrived. Fighting and perhaps killing a kidnapper could be explained and excused, especially with so many witnesses to the event. Killing a new husband could rouse a lot more questions and doubts, especially as that would leave Gormfeurach needing a new laird, as Sir John had no heirs. One look at the pale, trembling Father Mollison told her that she was on her own. The priest did not have the courage to protest this travesty. Triona braced herself for a good long fight and prayed that a rescue was on its way.

Brett waited tensely as Harcourt searched the ground for the trail they needed to follow, while Callum disappeared into the trees. It slowed them down each time they had to hesitate like this, but he knew it was necessary. There was nothing to gain in racing about the countryside bellowing Triona’s name as a nearly uncontrollable part of him wanted to. He had had to wrestle hard with himself to keep his hunting skills keen, trying to keep diverted by talking to Brian or thinking of ways to end the troubles with Sir John.

The thought of how humiliated he would be if he gave in to the blind panic gnawing at his insides helped as well. He took a nearly sinful pride in his ability to remain calm in battle, in his hunting and fighting skills, and he refused to lose them now, even if he had good reason. Brett also knew he had to find the time to think on how fierce his fear and concern were for Triona, and why.

“Found them,” said Callum as he rode up beside Brett.

“Then why have I spent all this time looking for a trail when ye obviously could just wander up to them?” asked Harcourt as he joined them.

“Wasnae sure if the birds were acting strangely because of a predator or because of men. Needed to look first. It was men.” Callum looked at Brett. “The lady is hale, so hale she is shredding Sir John with a sharp tongue, but he is about to try to force her to say vows afore a terrified priest. That poor mon will do naught to stop the marriage.”

“I cannae believe his men would stand beside him in this,” said Brett. “Everything we have seen and learned has revealed that Sir John’s people dinnae like what he has been asking of them.”

“I dinnae think these are his people, nay all of them. I think the mon has gone and hired himself a few swords, paying strangers to do this dirty work for him.”

“And dragged a terrified priest along as weel. Let us go and end this before he finds a way to force Triona to say those vows.” Brett frowned when a cry echoed through the wood. “What was that?”

“A bellow of rage, I believe. The lass is doing a verra good job of making Sir John verra, verra angry.”

“Then we best get there before she drives him to the point of hurting her.”

It was slow work slipping through the trees, trying to stay in the shadows and move as silently as possible. Their horses were well trained for such work, as they themselves were, but it took only one snapped twig to alert someone with keen ears. Or a guard watching for them, Brett thought as he heard someone crashing through the woods. A moment later there was a bellow of warning. Brett looked at Callum.

Callum shrugged. “Missed him,” he said and then, unsheathing his sword, he let go a battle cry that sent every bird in the woods flying up in panic.

Brett cursed as Callum charged toward the sounds of men attempting to run for their lives. He unsheathed his own sword, kicked his horse into a gallop, and followed his cousin. The other eight men with them did the same. A stealthy approach might have been a better strategy, but Brett had to admit that this way appeased some of the fear and anger knotting his insides.

Sir John and what was left of his band of men came into view just as Triona punched Sir John in the face, forcing him to release her. The man had been dragging her to his horse, she fighting and cursing him every step of the way. Brett felt his anger flare hot again over the way the man was so roughly handling her. Sir John was mounted and fleeing before Brett got close enough to make him pay for mistreating her, however. He paused in the chase only long enough to look Triona over and assure himself that she was unharmed.

Triona stood up and brushed herself off. She looked up as Sir Brian walked up to her. The man was grinning, and she had to admit that he was a handsome man with a smile that undoubtedly had led to Arianna’s falling in love with him. She was not sure what he was grinning at, though.

“A weel-delivered punch, m’lady,” he said and then turned to the priest. “They didnae hurt ye, did they?”

“Nay, sir,” said the priest. “I was but roughly dragged along to this place to perform a wedding between Sir John Grant and Lady Triona McKee.”

“A
forced
wedding,” Triona said. “Ye should have been protesting that as heartily as I was. Ye should have been doing something, anything, to help me.”

“I was in fear for my life and wasnae about to lose it just because some lass doesnae wish to be wed to a mon, a laird no less, and one with his own lands.”

Triona had not realized that she had curled her hand into a fist, until Sir Brian leaned closer and said, “I am nay sure ye should show the priest how weel ye deliver a punch. It might be a sin, ye ken, and one with a high penance cost. Although I wouldnae mind watching ye do so.” He winked at her when she looked at him.

She laughed and shook her head. It was evident that in the time she had been the laird of Banuilt, she had lost all tolerance of men who thought they knew what was best for a woman. Being laird and not doing too badly at the job, all without a man’s assistance, gave one a great deal of confidence. Ignoring the priest, she waited for the other men to return. It disappointed but did not surprise her when they came back without Sir John. Triona did not know how the man was doing it, especially since she was confident in the skills of Sir Brett and the others, but he was proving to be very good at disappearing and staying out of reach.

Without a word, Sir Brett held out his hand, and she let him pull her up into the saddle behind him. Triona wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her cheek against his broad back. Slowly all her anger and fear melted away. It seemed weak to find such comfort in a man, but she did, and it was too good a feeling to push aside just because she feared it, perhaps even resented it just a little.

In fact, she mused, there were a great many good feelings Sir Brett Murray caused her to experience, which she was weary of running from or trying to ignore. She had just been faced with a forced marriage to Sir John Grant, a man who left her cold—if she ignored the anger he stirred in her heart. She knew he would have consummated that marriage as quickly as possible to make it even more difficult to protest it. The very thought of that man taking her to his bed made her shudder with revulsion. She also knew that until he was caught, she could face that threat again, and yet she had turned aside the passion Sir Brett stirred inside her, again and again. Triona decided it might be time to reconsider protecting her virtue from a man she wanted. It did seem rather foolish, when there was another man she hated, trying so hard to steal it away.

“Now we may seek justice for ye,” said Brett.

Triona sighed. It was not time to seek justice, for Sir John had been trying to make her do what nearly every man of power in the area, including their liege laird, had advised her to do—get a husband. Brett was not going to understand her reluctance to bring any attention to herself for her continued refusal of Sir John, not without hard proof of crimes other than his attempt to marry her. She knew she was about to enter into an argument that could last a very long time.