Highlander Enchanted (18 page)

It was not a question of whether or not he could, but whether or not he should that troubled Cade. He dwelt on the priest’s confidence, uncomfortable with the knowledge Isabel was in a dungeon or that he was going to have to rescue her, if he wanted her lands.

“I doona fear victory,” he said softly. “I fear the cost of it. War in a foreign land, against a foreign people I will ne’er see again, is different than bringing war to my kin. I inherited war from my father but those I must protect are my mother’s kin.”

“If ye fear for them, then send them away.”

“T’where?”

Father Adam gave a dry chuckle. “The MacCosse lands.”

Cade shook his head.

“She claimed t’be yer wife once and ye have the writ making it so. All ye need is the lass at yer side, and I can officiate.”

“Ye crafty old bastard,” Cade said. His thoughts lingered on the idea of making Isabel his wife – and the rush of heat accompanying such a thought. He had been drawn to her since they first met in the forest. To have her in his bed and her lands under his command … It was more appealing than settling down had ever been. With restlessness in his blood born from war and magic, he had viewed marriage as another dungeon. But with Isabel, he saw something very different, even if he did not know exactly what that was. Her touch stilled the fury of his blood, and his magic welcomed her.

“Ye prefer peace yet would see me at war.” Cade turned his attention back to the priest.

“The good lord believes battle, when warranted, t’be a forgivable sin,” Father Adam replied. “Ye fight t’protect the MacDonald’s and yer own clan. If ye only kill when ye must and ye show mercy, I canna think my god or yers would fault ye for it. Cade, yer already at war. Our clan is already in danger. We willna have a home come winter, even if ye wed the MacDonald’s lass. They ‘ave no land either. If ye can force the king’s hand, we might have our own lands.”

“There is naught fer them on the MacCosse lands. ‘Twould take gold I doona have to shelter them.”

“Or a seillie who can temper the weather,” Father Adam pointed out. “’Twill ne’er hurt t’put distance between Laird Duncan and our clan. We have an ally at the Scottish court, or will, if we possess the MacCosse heir.”

Cade paused at the window and gazed at the storm clouds gathering. His magic had decided already. The clouds were over the MacDonald’s land, where Laird Duncan claimed to be awaiting his decision. Troubled by what lay ahead of him, he was not as eager to face battle this time as he had been when he went off to the Crusades.

“I brought ye back from the devil once,” Father Adam added quietly. “I can do it again, Cade.”

“And if I become him? What can ye do?”

“Pray fer yer soul.”

Cade snorted. “Nay, priest. Ye’ll have to do more than this.” He crossed to a trunk and flung open its lid, ruffling through the contents until he found what he sought. He lifted a dagger with a blade made of bright green jade and held it out to the priest. “If ye canna save me, ye kill me.”

Father Adam frowned.

“I canna go forward until I have yer word ye will do as I say,” Cade said firmly. “If Black Cade canna be saved, ye must kill him, or he will destroy all.”

The priest drew a breath and nodded, his expression grave. “I’ll do as ye say, Cade.” He accepted the dagger. “But I will do all I can t’save ye first.”

“I ken.” Cade shook out his shoulders. Already, battle lust was beginning to build despite his exhaustion. “I need ye t’send a writ t’the stewart of the king. Niall claimed he was unnaturally interested in Lady Isabel, and I ken why now. Tell ‘im our plight. Tell ‘im she is in danger.”

“Yea, at once.”

“I will stall Laird Duncan long enough for my cousin Douglas t’lead our people t’the MacCosse lands. The writ must reach the king b’fore Laird Duncan reaches the MacCosse lands.”

“It will be done,” Father Adam vowed.

“Yer a good man, for a priest.”

“Yer a good man, for a seillie.”

Cade clasped his friend and mentor on the shoulder.

A knock at the door silenced further discussion. It cracked open, and the healer with wild hair entered, carrying a satchel.

“If ye can, Marie, save him,” he directed her. “If not, Father, give him last rites.”

He left them in search of his cousins. His next move had to be well planned, or he would risk more than the lives of his kin.

Chapter Sixteen

The rain started before dusk, though the lightning and thunder remained a safe distance away.

Cade rode with his cousins, their weaponry hidden beneath long cloaks. His blood hummed with warmth despite the chilly evening.

Drawing to a halt at the guarded entrance to the MacDonald keep where Duncan MacGomery had settled, he lowered his hood.

“Laird Cade,” one of the guards said with a quick bow. “Wait here.” He dashed inside.

Cade patted the neck of his horse. Since deciding war was on the table earlier in the day, he had felt the shift inside him. The one that caused him to view every detail of the MacDonald keep with the eyes of a warrior intending to attack. The keep was damaged from MacGomery’s attack but also heavily guarded. The three of them peered through the main gate into the bailey. Fire damage was apparent, and the heads of MacDonald’s few warriors either dangled from the parapets or were stuck on pikes on either side of the gate.

“Warriors from Clan MacTieran,” Niall said quietly.

“That’s MacWarren’s tartan,” Brian added and indicated a cluster of soldiers near the stables.

“Yea,” Cade murmured. “I see at least four clans’ warriors.”

“We ken Laird Duncan is powerful,” Niall said. “We canna face the men of six clans.”

“They are no’ all here,” Brian pointed out. “It’ll take time for Laird Duncan to rally them all.”

“And then what?”

No one answered.

The guard returned and motioned for them to follow. Cade nudged his horse forward towards the stables, where a stable boy rushed out to take its reins.

“This isna what we thought,” Niall said. “But our plan can still work.”

“As long as we all keep our heads,” Brian said with a glance at Cade.

“Stall. Get the lass and leave,” Cade agreed. “We’ll ken better how to face him after this.”

Displeased by the amount of warriors – and the clans represented – Cade trailed the guard into the boisterous Great Hall at the center of the keep. Even more men were present here, and the tables overflowed with meats, pies, breads and wines. He paused upon entering, his stomach growling in complaint after days of dried meat and stale bread. With no coin to feed his people or the MacDonald’s, he was scraping the bottom of the barrels of grain for bread and sending out several hunting parties a day.

“Someone found the MacDonald’s treasury,” Niall whispered.

“Ye think this is all his gold?” Brian asked.

“He is a wealthy laird,” Cade said. “I didna ken how wealthy.” He had never visited the MacDonald’s keep, relying instead on messengers and visits from the Laird’s kinsmen to his home to hammer out a wedding contract. He had not questioned the stroke of good fortune, not when his people were on the verge of homelessness and starvation. “If he has so much gold, why did he offer his daughter t’me?”

“I doona ken, but I want to,” Brian said.

“Perhaps he knew of his danger and wanted Black Cade t’save him?” Niall asked, equally puzzled.

“He must ken we ‘ave no warriors,” Brian countered.

“We will ask him when we are home,” Cade said firmly. Ignoring his envious stomach, he spotted Laird Duncan and began making his way through the crowded hall to the table where the thick frame of Duncan sat. A seasoned warrior with bushy beard and eyebrows, Duncan was a combination of hair, eyes and teeth when he smiled.

“Cade!” he boomed and stood from his position at the head of the laird’s table. “Ye came in this weather?”

“I didna wish t’offend ye with my tardiness,” Cade said, swallowing all semblance of pride to make it through their plan. “Yer messages were drenched when they reached me. Took my priest all day to read it.”

“I am honored ye thought to deliver yer response in person,” Duncan said with a smile. “Niall, Brian, ye are welcome. Come. Sit!” He motioned for several of the knights at his table to move.

Cade sat at his right while his cousins sat across from them. Duncan ordered them all wine and food, and slapped his hands on the tabletop.

“How fare yer kin?” he asked.

“Verra well, thanks to yer kindness.” Cade forced himself to say.

Duncan appeared pleased. “I hope my messages didna cause ye too much distress. I ‘ave no reason t’doubt yer fidelity, but I canna allow my enemies to take refuge in my own keep!”

At moments such as this, Cade wanted very much to let his inner unseillie out, to put Duncan in his place. The internal struggle lasted long enough for Niall to kick him under the table.

“We have sent them away already,” he lied smoothly.

“’ave ye? I thought ye fancied Laird MacDonald’s lass.” Despite the smile, Duncan’s gaze was sharp.

“I didna. My cousin did,” Cade said with a small smile at Niall. “Laird MacDonald willna survive long. He is old and weak. His healer couldna wake him when they left.”

“Ah. This is welcome news.” Duncan stuffed a fistful of bread into his mouth and motioned one of his guards over. “Visit my keep. Ensure my enemies are no longer housed there.”

Cade listened and began to eat.

“I doona mistrust ye, Cade,” Duncan said. “But I must be certain.”

“I understand,” Cade replied. “As long as ye doona object to us eating yer food while we wait.”

“Eat away!” Duncan said and slapped him hard on the back.

Brian and Niall, likewise hungry, were already bent over their trenchers and stuffing their mouths. Cade did so as well, confident in what Duncan’s men would see when they reached the keep. He waited until the edge of his hunger was gone before leaning back.

“About the English lass,” he started. “Can we discuss her in privacy?”

Duncan glanced at him. “Ye ken her?”

“We are hand-fasted.”

Duncan paused with a handful of food halfway to his mouth and lowered it, straightening. “Yer betrothed to the wench?”

“I am,” Cade proclaimed.

Duncan appeared to be trying not to smile. “Come. Let us talk.” He stood abruptly and walked away, wiping his hands on his clothing as he went.

Cade left his cousins and trailed the wide, stocky laird out of the Great Hall and to a nearby solar. It was quiet and warm – and they were not the only visitors present.

Cade uttered a silent curse at the sight of Lord Richard, who sat in English finery sipping wine. His head was bandaged.

Duncan paused in the doorway of the solar. “Ye see, we ‘ave a problem,” he said, thoroughly amused. “This English noble claims t’be hand-fasted t’her as well.” He entered and strode towards Richard.

With a sinking feeling, Cade followed.

“The lass is pretty but methinks one of ye was fooled by her,” Duncan said and sat near the fire. “How does one woman have two betrothed?”

Richard appeared startled. “You are mistaken, Laird Duncan. She has but one right and true betrothed.”

“Yea. ‘Tis so,” Cade agreed. “As yer loyal vassal, I would hope ye consider my claim before some Englishman.” He spat the last word.

“This Englishman has gold,” Richard replied coldly. “Last I heard, you had not a coin to your name.”

“I doona need coin when I can take it from someone like ye!” Cade snapped.

Richard rose, hand on the hilt of his sword. “You would challenge me? A noble with more gold and lands than you could dream of?”

“They are no’ yer lands and gold!”

Richard flushed.

“Quiet, lads. Yer host bids ye not to argue. Let us sit and decide who the English lass belongs to.” Duncan said and waved them towards their seats. His eyes sparkled with intrigue and amusement – and a shrewd edge Cade knew meant he was evaluating both of them.

Cade took his seat, wanting to give the appearance of obedience and fidelity. Once this night was over, he did not care what Duncan thought of him. But to rescue Isabel and claim her lands for his clan, he had to rein in his battle lust and temper.

“’Tis true Cade canna offer me gold,” Duncan mused. “’Tis also true I doona trust an Englishman. How can we resolve this without bloodshed?”

“’Tis customary, among men of honor, when challenged, to settle such a dispute with a
duellum
,” Richard replied. “We each choose a champion to fight, and each champion chooses one weapon. Whoever survives the
duellum
, wins Lady Isabel.”

“A
duellum
,” Duncan repeated, his eyes glowing. “Ye English ken how t’make a Highland heart sing. ’Twould provide entertainment fer my men during the tempests.”

“Or we ask her,” Cade suggested.

“Ask a woman who she wishes to wed?” Richard laughed.

“Have either of ye got gold with ye?” Duncan asked.

“My family, and her uncle, will –”

“I said,
with
ye, Englishman.”

Richard cleared his throat. “I do not. But –”

Duncan waved a hand at him. “I willna insult ye by asking, Cade. Have either of ye a contract writ out fer my priest t’examine?”

“Our families had an understanding,” Richard replied.

Cade’s thoughts went to the two contracts in Lady Isabel’s saddlebags. The idea of marriage to a non-seillie left him uncomfortable and second guessing how far he would go for land. With Richard’s claim and gold to back an army of his own, how did he knowingly place the lives of his clan in danger?

How did he not act to save her when she was the sole hope of saving his people?

“I willna insult ye by asking, Cade,” Duncan said.

“I do,” he said slowly.

Both men looked at him.

“Do what?” Richard challenged.

“I ‘ave a contract.”

“’Tis not possible.”

“Is it wi’ ye?” Duncan asked.

“It is at the keep. I can send Niall for it,” Cade replied.

“Laslow!” Duncan bellowed over his shoulder. Seconds later, the head of a servant poked into the solar. “Bring Niall MacLachlainn!”