Plight of the Highlander (The MacLomain Series: Next Generation Book 5) (16 page)

His hand slipped into hers as they walked across a field painfully familiar to them.

“I always meant to ask for your hand in marriage far differently than that,” he murmured.

“Aye,” she said softly. “But even when you spoke of it years ago ‘twas always your intention to speak to the MacLomain laird first. ‘Tis good then that you had such an opportunity.”

Colin said nothing to that but she felt his discomfort. “You didnae need to agree so readily if ‘twas but offered only to find peace betwixt our clans.”

Torra was about to respond, but Adlin stopped and waved them forward. When they joined him, he said. “‘Tis best that Colin stay at the front with me as this is MacLeod land.”

“Aye,” they murmured, releasing one another’s hands so that Colin might join Adlin and Iosbail.

Torra suspected that Adlin wanted to take this time to better understand the MacLeod as well. After all, their clans shared a long, bloody history. And as she well knew, it was a MacLeod chieftain who had been the enemy in Adlin’s love story with Mildred. The lass who would always be his one true love and the reason he would eventually age. Not only that, it was she he left his clan for to spend his final years in the twenty-first century.

Bradon and Grant walked ahead, Meyla and Valan right behind. Sheila and Leslie fell in on either side of Torra, eager to speak with her.

“How are you doing?” Sheila said.

Torra smiled though she still worried about so much. “I’m all right, thank you.”

“Are you?” Leslie narrowed her eyes. “That was an awful lot of tension back there. Too much could have gone wrong.”

“But it didn’t,” Sheila said.

“No, it didn’t,” Leslie conceded. “Still.”

“I’m fine, really,” Torra said.

Leslie glanced at Sheila. “Do you believe her?”

Sheila looked at Torra. “I’m honestly not sure…are you just saying as much so that we don’t worry?”

While for a mere moment Torra hoped Bradon and Grant would turn back and rescue her from their inquisitive lasses, she realized how lucky she was that they cared. Because they didn’t have to. Nay, if not for Torra there was always the chance they would have found their one true love without all the strife.

But they were genuinely concerned and for that she took their hands as they walked. “I’m happy.” She paused, deciding to open up. “And scared.”

Leslie gave a tempered grin and nodded toward Colin. “I can well understand why you’re happy. He’s proving to be amazingly awesome.” Then her eyes grew far more serious. “But why scared?”

The lasses waited as she contemplated her answer. “I’m scared that Keir Hamilton will still somehow win this war and that all the people I love.” She glanced between them. “And have come to love, will get hurt.”

Sheila’s warm hand squeezed hers. “Not once have you worried about Keir Hamilton’s ultimate goal in possessing you, huh?” She shook her head. “No, all this time you’ve worried about everybody else.”

“‘Tis safe to say if Keir at last has me then all who I care about are no more, aye?” Torra murmured more to herself than to them.

“Yet that’s never been the reason you’ve done everything you have,” Leslie said. “Nope, you can say it all day long, but we know better. Since the get-go, you’ve been terrified that the dragon inside would somehow bring harm to your family. What Keir Hamilton has done only proved your fears valid.”

“How could it have been any other way?” Torra whispered.

“Maybe it couldn’t,” Sheila said. “But perhaps you’ll start looking at all of this from a different perspective and find strength from it, maybe even a definite way to forgive yourself.”

Torra looked at her in question.

But Leslie provided the answer. “Eight people have already found their true loves because you’re part dragon.”

Sheila nodded toward Colin. “Make that ten people.”

“Do you realize how incredibly astounding that is?” Leslie asked softly.

“Through the roof astounding,” Sheila echoed.

Torra didn’t know what to say. These lasses were remarkable and she was so profoundly happy that Bradon and Grant found them. She was also glad of the romances her brother Colin and cousin, Malcolm had found. As to what she had with the MacLeod…it was irreplaceable and immensely wonderful.

“So see.” Leslie smiled. “If not for the awesome dragon that you are, none of this would be possible.”

Torra supposed that was one remote way of looking at it but remained thankful for their kindhearted words. Before she could say as much, they were heading down the narrow stairs that led to the forest below. Now it would be single file. Though she’d rather bask in their sweet words, Torra turned her thoughts to what lay ahead.

As far as she knew the sole purpose for arriving in this location had been so that her brother and Colin MacLeod might forge a much-needed bond betwixt the clans. That had already happened so now she could only assume they were here so that her love could connect with the MacLeods at the Highland Defiance.

But why would so many of their traveling party still need to be here?

Only Adlin MacLomain apparently knew.

And mayhap even Iosbail though she didn’t say as much.

They were only minutes into walking through the forest when they came across several MacLeods. Not warriors, but peddlers, they eyed Colin and his crew. Obviously uninterested in engaging so many large men not wearing their clan’s colors, they kept their eyes averted.

But Colin MacLeod would have none of it.

Smile cordial, he approached and nodded at their wares. “Have ye some whiskey?”

A man as round as the wheels on his cart eyed Colin up and down, voice cautious. “Aye, for a MacLeod to be sure.”

Adlin must have provided Colin with coin because he soon produced far more than what a few skins of whiskey was worth. “I’ve coin for refreshment and information alike.”

The other peddlers moved on the moment they heard that. But not the man Colin spoke to. Instead, he leaned back slightly, rested his hands on his rotund belly, gaze flickering between the coin and those that traveled with the MacLeod. “What sort of information?”

“Do ye recognize their plaids then?” Colin asked softly.

Tongue in cheek, the peddler’s flat but greedy eyes narrowed only slightly. “Be they the enemy then?”

Colin pulled out a few more coins and added them to the others, sure to make the sound of metal clanking against metal loud enough. “Nay, they are no enemies at all.”

Jowls tucked beneath his chin, the man contemplated Colin for a long moment before he nodded and pulled forth several skins from his cart. “There is but one band of MacLeod warriors left in these parts and they’re at the Defiance.”

“Why are they at the Defiance and not north to help their chieftain?” Colin asked, pouring the coins from one hand to the other.

Enthralled by the sound of money, or mayhap swayed by the MacLeod’s seemingly easy nature, he shrugged. “They dinnae think the defected bairn is worth fighting for.”

Torra kept her breathing even as fury rose. Aye, Colin’s sister Nessa had paved a kind path for him but naturally there would be diehard soldiers who would not believe it. Now they stayed close to the MacLeod castle to defend it rather than riding south to aid the new MacLeod chieftain.

To aid Colin MacLeod.

Colin nodded and arched his brows at the peddler. “How many do the warriors at the Defiance count and what are your thoughts on the defected MacLeod turned laird?”

Clearly, the whiskey seller was no fool. Not sure in the least to whom he spoke, a safe answer was offered. “Hundreds of warriors are about.” Then he answered the other question. “I think the former chieftain’s bairn has been too long gone from the MacLeods to ken much of his story beyond rumors.” The man shrugged, eyes still on the coin. “And I dinnae pay much mind to rumors.”

Colin gave no response other than to nod and drop the handful of coins into the peddler’s meaty palm. Handing over enough skins for the lot of them, the man nodded and continued on his way.

Iosbail came alongside, took a skin, a long swallow then wiped the back of her hand across her mouth before eyeing Colin. “Keep on impressing me then, MacLeod.”

Adlin looked skyward, took his own skin and shook his head at his sister. “Ye’ll never change, lass.”

“Nor would I want to,” Iosbail said as if astounded any would expect such.

“Right.” Leslie took a skin, swigged then said to Iosbail, “Don’t you dare change.”

Colin handed skins to the rest then Torra, his gaze lingering. “Quite the crowd we’ve with us, aye?”

Torra gave a soft smile and took a small sip. “So it seems.”

The MacLeod’s eyes remained on her. They were both eager for more time alone together. But it seemed they were a ways off from that or so said Grant’s stern expression as he joined them and nodded through the forest.

“We’ve weapons enough to give them a good fight, but we’re not here to do such, aye, my friend?”

Colin shook his head, eyes toward the original Defiance. “Nay, we’re not here to do such.”

Grant grasped Colin’s shoulder, eyes on the MacLeod. “Then let this be the first rallying speech ye give as the new MacLeod chieftain.”

A thin grin carved Colin’s lips. “And mayhap with ye as my first-in-command?”

“‘Twould not be any other way,” Grant said, voice sure and eyes direct.

Colin breathed deeply, eyes never leaving his friend’s. “But I’ll want more.”

“Aye,” Grant said softly.

“Valan Hamilton lives,” Colin murmured.

“He does,” Grant agreed, eyes never leaving Colin’s. “So ye know what ye need to do.”

“The Hamiltons never loved him as they do ye,” Colin argued.

“It matters naught.” Grant squeezed his shoulder. “Keir’s son lives.
Use
that.”

Colin looked at Grant long and hard before he at last nodded and said over his shoulders to the others, “Time to go.”

None said a word as they headed toward the Defiance.

Torra walked alongside Adlin and Iosbail as the others stayed in their own groups. It didn’t go unnoticed that Valan and Meyla chose to once more walk together. Interesting thing considering Meyla had birthed Adlin’s child. But who was Torra to judge having ended up with the enemy?

They had only reached the outskirts of the Defiance when far more MacLeods filtered through the forest. Though she walked into this encampment over two hundred years ago without a MacLeod casting a second glance, now it was entirely different.

Now many warriors stopped and narrowed their eyes.

Torra murmured a prayer to the gods as they continued. Colin MacLeod might lead them but as far as these men were concerned he was but a man with far too many strangers behind him. Aye, five of them might be lasses but four were tall, formidable Scotsman. If that wasn’t threatening enough, three of them wore the MacLomain plaid with weapons at hand. Valan, interestingly enough, now wore the Hamilton plaid.

These MacLeod warriors were likely a far cry from those who followed Colin when he defected. Nay, these were older seasoned, dangerous men who had been loyal to his father from the beginning.

They’d barely made the gate to the Defiance courtyard when four MacLeods blocked the way. Far too many surrounded them from behind. Hands free of weapons and not reaching for the one strapped to his back, Colin stopped and eyed them. Instead of saying who he was it seemed he wanted them to speak first.

A MacLeod older than the rest and with eyes far harder spoke first. His white mustache puffed out beneath his untrusting words. “Colin MacLeod, ‘tis a bloody odd thing that yer on our doorstep when yer supposed to be fighting alongside the Hamilton.”

Torra clenched her jaw. There would be no easy entrance here.

Colin hesitated another long moment before his voice rose strong and sure so that all might hear. “Abhainn, it has been too long, my friend.”

“Too long?” The man tilted back his head, eyes even harsher than they were moments before. “Is that what these years betwixt have been?”

“Aye,” Colin said easily, eyes locked on the man. “And long have I missed ye and mine.”

“Long have ye missed us?” Abhainn muttered and shook his head, eyes glittering with distaste. “Just as yer Da said.”

“My Da only knew what my sister, Nessa told him and nothing more,” Colin said honestly. “Now I’m here to tell ye the truth of it.”

The older clansman withdrew his dagger, crossed his arms over his chest and leaned forward slightly. “And what say ye if I dinnae believe the word of a lad who defected from his clan?”

Colin clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes. When he unsheathed his blade, so too did all the MacLeods and MacLomains around him. But the MacLeod chieftain only meant to rile then placate or so it seemed because he made a show of tossing aside his blade then crossing his arms over his chest.

Voice a low rumble, Colin said, “Were ye not there when I first toddled, Abhainn? Was it not ye who years later first tucked a blade in my hand when even my Da wouldnae?”

Nothing could compare to the silent fury that fluctuated between the MacLeod men.