Seduced by Her Highland Warrior (17 page)

‘He left us a few days ago to go after Iliana on his own.' But there were doubts upon the man's face as though he viewed it as a hopeless endeavor.

‘Our younger brother Callum was Harkirk's prisoner,' Bram interjected. ‘He knows the interior of the fortress like no one else. We got him out alive. There's no reason we couldn't do the same for your chief's daughter.'

‘And why would you help us? Especially after we attacked you.' Emptiness settled over the man's expression, as if he had little hope left.

‘Because we've a greater need for allies than enemies. You have information about Harkirk; between us, we can put a stop to his threats against the clans.'

‘How do we know you'll keep your word?' Brochain asked.

‘You don't,' Bram replied. ‘But if you kill us here, what chance do you stand of getting your chief back alive?'

Brochain seemed to consider it and after a long moment, he sheathed his weapon. One by one, the others drew back. ‘Come with us back to Moristerry and we'll talk.'

From the look the
tánaiste
sent to his men, Alex trusted him even less. He kept his hand poised upon his weapon as he followed them down the hill towards the MacLachor stronghold.

 

Laren mounted her horse, with Dougal and Callum at her side. Though they'd spent hours searching the surrounding areas for Adaira, there was no sign of her
daughter. A dull sick feeling had settled within her stomach at the thought of anything happening to her baby. There was no choice but to confront the MacLachors and take Adaira back.

‘Gather the clansmen together,' she ordered Nairna. ‘I want to speak with them.'

Although her old fears swam in her stomach, she couldn't hide behind her shyness. She needed the remaining men to help her; without them, her daughter might suffer.

‘I'm sorry about Adaira,' Nairna said, her face pale. ‘I can't even imagine the pain you must be suffering.'

‘I'm going to find her and bring her home,' Laren insisted. ‘No matter how long it takes.'

Though she still suffered from the exhaustion of her pregnancy, the nausea had at last subsided. Only Alex and Grizel knew of it and now she was grateful she'd kept silent. No one would allow her to leave Glen Arrin if she'd admitted her condition.

She hardly slept any more. How could she, when her baby was gone? While Nairna gathered the others, Laren paced, going over the words in her mind. She'd never before addressed the people and it terrified her. Ever since Alex had revealed her glassmaking, they'd grown even more distant, behaving as though she were engaged in sorcery instead of glass.

One by one they assembled and Laren studied them.
They have children, too,
she reminded herself. If they understood even half of the fear that burned through her, they might be willing to help.

‘The MacLachors have taken Adaira,' she began. When a slight shifting alerted her that her voice wasn't loud enough, she forced herself to add more volume. She
couldn't hide the trembling tone, but the men and women didn't seem to blame her for it. ‘I need your help in bringing her home.'

‘Have they demanded a ransom?' Ross asked. In his wrinkled face, she saw sympathy and the silent offer of help. During the few months she'd stayed with him and Vanora, he'd come to think of the girls as his grandchildren.

‘No.' She held up the parchment with the mark of the MacLachors and the lock of her daughter's hair. ‘This is all I have as proof.'

There were murmurings among the men, as though they doubted whether the MacLachors were truly responsible.

‘I'm going to find Alex,' she told them. ‘But I'm asking for a few of you to join me, in case we have to fight for her.'

Callum stepped forwards, holding his bow and quiver of black-feathered arrows. Laren started to protest, for they needed his skill at Glen Arrin. But when she tried to speak, he reached over and touched his finger to her lips, silencing her.

He stared at the remaining men, as if daring them to protest.

‘I'll go with you,' Ramsay offered. He sent her a hopeful look, but he was far too young to face such danger.

‘I need you to tend my furnaces,' she said. ‘I'm relying on you and Monroe to continue the glassmaking.'

Though he looked disappointed, his offer had an effect upon the others, as if shaming them into agreeing. Two more men joined Callum and Laren turned to Ross. ‘Defend Glen Arrin while we're gone,' she ordered. The older man inclined his head.

Laren exhaled a breath and studied the people. It hadn't been as difficult as she'd imagined, speaking before them.
There hadn't been judgement or criticism in their eyes—only understanding.

‘I'm going to find my daughter,' she finished, not caring that her cheeks were wet with tears. To her surprise, she saw Grizel approach.

The matron squeezed her hand. ‘Aye, you will. And God help any man who tries to stop a mother from saving her child.'

F
inian MacLachor held the sleeping child in his arms. The young girl had cried for most of the afternoon until she'd fallen into an exhausted stupor. He drew his cloak over her for warmth and stared at the fortress that lay ahead. More than anything, he wished he could turn back. But his time had already run out and he was afraid of what had happened to Iliana.

He walked forwards through the gates, still carrying Adaira in his arms with the cloak wrapped around her. The soldiers watched him as he entered, their weapons held in readiness, though there was no need. Two soldiers crossed in front of him. Finian eyed the men. ‘I've brought Lord Harkirk a hostage in exchange for my daughter.'

There was doubt upon their faces, but they led him toward the main tower. Inside the fortress, he saw men dressed in rags, laying stones atop one another to form walls to reinforce the keep. One sent him a grim expression, silently damning Finian for what he was about to do. Aye, this girl was an innocent. And though he hated
himself for handing her over to the enemy, he could see no other choice. He hadn't enough men to save Iliana. He could only hope that Harkirk would trade one daughter for another.

The soldiers led him into a room where Harkirk was speaking with a group of men. The Baron wore chainmail armour and a conical helm, as though he'd recently come from a battle. When he saw Finian, his gaze turned interested. ‘What have you brought me?'

‘The MacKinloch chief's youngest daughter. In return, I want Iliana back.'

The man gave a thin smile. ‘So, you think to bargain for her. Why would you believe I kept her alive after all this time?'

‘Because you want the MacKinlochs dead. And they will fight for this child. They will come to you…all of them.'

The Baron sent him an amused smile. To one of the soldiers, he said, ‘Take her.'

Out of instinct, Finian's hands tightened around Adaira. The motion awakened the child and, when the soldier seized her, she started wailing again. Harkirk gestured to the man and the soldier disappeared with the baby. The young girl's cries would haunt him, for he'd now done the unthinkable—handing over an innocent to the devil himself.

‘The child could belong to anyone,' Harkirk said. ‘You've no proof that she's a MacKinloch.'

‘She is. I swear it.' His courage ran cold, for he now realised he'd made a fatal mistake. He'd believed that Harkirk would accept the hostage exchange and that he'd get Iliana back. Now, it was clear that Harkirk had no intention of honouring such a bargain.

‘Put him with the others,' Harkirk ordered. ‘And we'll see if anyone comes for the child.'

Four men seized him, the cold metal of their armour biting into his arms. Finian struggled to free himself, but his strength was no match for the others. ‘What about my daughter?' he shouted as the men started to drag him away.

‘She's already dead.'

 

‘Harkirk's men attacked us a sennight after they burned Glen Arrin,' Brochain said. ‘They took Finian's daughter Iliana and, in return, they wanted your heads.'

Alex tossed a peat brick upon the fire, understanding what the Baron had intended. ‘If Harkirk hired you to kill us, then he'd keep his hands clean.'

‘Aye.' Brochain's gaze tightened. ‘He's nearly annihilated our clan. We've hardly any men left at all.' Bitterness lined his tone when he added, ‘My brother took a group of the others, planning to attack Harkirk's forces and rescue his daughter. He was the only survivor.'

Alex took a sip of ale from the drinking horn he'd brought with him and passed it to Brochain. The
tánaiste
hesitated a moment—drinking from it would signify an alliance between them. But eventually he drank, passing it on to each of his men.

‘Do the other clans know about the bounty?'

Brochain shrugged. ‘I don't know. And now I may not see my brother alive again.' He nodded at the others, who numbered fewer than a dozen. ‘We can't attempt another rescue. It would be suicide.'

Alex settled back to think. ‘Have you spoken to the other clans?'

‘They refused to help us.' Brochain rested his wrist upon his knee, staring into the fire. ‘I fear our only chance of
surviving this is to let Finian go.' His hand clenched into a fist. ‘But he's my brother.'

‘We'll help you get them back,' Bram spoke up. He eyed Alex and said, ‘I swore I'd free Harkirk's remaining prisoners.' He raised his wrists, showing Brochain the scars that remained from the chains he'd worn for seven years. ‘But we won't attack them directly. We'll have to get inside another way.'

Alex read his brother's mind. ‘You want the MacLachors to take us in as their prisoners?'

‘No. We'll get help from Nairna's father.' The chief of the MacPhersons had formed a fragile truce with Harkirk, but it was wearing thin.

Alex began outlining his idea, drawing in the sand. Brochain added his own information that Finian had gathered from his two encounters with Harkirk. They spent hours discussing their plans, and when it was done, Alex felt a sense of satisfaction. If they freed Harkirk's prisoners, it would diminish his power. Not only that, but when those men returned to their own clans, it would help them to solidify stronger alliances.

After they finished an evening meal prepared by Brochain's sister, they heard the sounds of horses approaching. Alex stood, reaching for his shield and weapons as he left the shelter. Outside, the sun was sinking below the horizon and he saw Callum, Laren and two other MacKinloch men approaching.

From the distraught look upon his wife's face, he knew something terrible had happened.

‘What are you doing here?' he demanded.

Her cheeks were ghostly pale and her lips trembled as she spoke. ‘Adaira was taken hostage by the MacLachors. She's gone.'

 

Laren stared in shock as Alex grabbed one of the MacLachors by his tunic, choking off the man's air. ‘You said nothing about seizing my daughter, Brochain.'

Her husband had tightened his grip, hardly caring that his enemy couldn't answer. Laren dismounted and ran to his side. ‘Alex. We need answers from him.'

At last he let go and Brochain's face went from blue to red. He coughed heavily, bending over as he struggled to breathe. ‘Finian,' was all he could say.

The fury on Alex's face didn't diminish and Laren wrapped her arms around his waist. She held on for a moment as if she could steady the rage.

He took the man by his arm and forced him up. ‘Did you know about this?'

MacLachor shook his head. ‘No. But…when we attacked Glen Arrin, Finian wanted a hostage. It didn't work then, but he must have returned.' He sat down, reaching for a cup of ale to clear his throat. ‘I suppose he thought to trade one daughter for another.'

Laren gripped Alex's arm for support. A hostage? Her baby? The tenuous thread she had on her own anger was ready to snap. The Baron of Harkirk was heartless, an Englishman who kept Scots as slaves and worshipped silver. To even imagine her own daughter in the same vicinity as such a monster…it made her feel sick to her stomach.

Callum was standing next to Bram and a ruthless air of fury emanated from him. He knew, full well, what Adaira would face in Harkirk's stronghold. Though his outer scars were healing, no one knew what horrors Callum had witnessed. Though he'd helped the others with the rebuilding, Laren could see the hollowness that haunted him.

‘We'll get her back,' Brochain said. ‘Finian wasn't thinking clearly.' He eyed Alex, rubbing his throat. ‘We'll leave at dawn.'

 

Alex took Laren into one of the abandoned homes and started a fire in the hearth. Laren's fingers were trembling, her face filled with worry. Alex stood beside her and rested his arm around her. ‘I'll find Adaira. I swear it.'

‘
We
will find her,' she corrected. ‘I'll not be left behind while my daughter is in the hands of that monster.'

Alex took her hand. ‘If you think I'll allow you to endanger yourself, bringing you into Harkirk's fortress, you're mistaken.' He brought his hand to her swelling womb. ‘Or have you forgotten that there's another child that must be kept safe?'

‘I won't go back without her,' she insisted. Her eyes filled up with tears. ‘What kind of a man would take a baby and hand her over to the enemy?'

‘One whose daughter was already taken,' he answered. He kept his voice emotionless and it seemed to set off her temper.

‘How can you be so calm about this?'

He ignored the question, for he couldn't let himself think of anything happening to Adaira. Right now, he needed to focus on what needed to be done, keeping his personal feelings locked away. ‘Tomorrow, I'm sending you home with your escorts. Callum will stay with us.'

She lowered her head, her fingers clenching her side. ‘I don't understand you. You act as if you're going off to battle. As if nothing's wrong.'

He stared at the fire, but it did nothing to warm the coldness inside of him. ‘I
am
going off to battle, Laren.'

‘Don't you care at all? This is our
daughter
.'

‘I know well enough what's at stake, Laren.' He didn't need her to remind him that their baby's life lay in his hands. If he made a mistake, Adaira could die because of it.

Laren shook her head, backing away from him. ‘You were like this when David died. It was as if his life didn't matter.'

‘It mattered to me.' The words were emotionless, but beneath them, he felt the shadow of loss. The more she dwelled upon the past, the more it dug into him like a dull blade. ‘Right now, I have to think of how we're going to get inside Harkirk's fortress. And how we'll free her.' He used a heavy staff to poke at the fire, sending up a shower of sparks.

‘You never mourned for David, did you?' she murmured. ‘You visited his grave…but that was all.'

The accusation sliced through the shell surrounding his heart. He caught her wrists and held them in front of her. ‘Don't you
ever
accuse me of not loving our son. I mourned for him, aye.'

He was holding her too harshly and released her, feeling the frustration rising higher. ‘But I'm the chief of this clan. I can't let anyone see what's inside of me. Not them. And not you.'

Every word she spoke was grinding against him. Couldn't she see that he felt pain as deeply as she, even if he could never show it?

‘I'm your wife, Alex,' she whispered, her eyes filled with tears. ‘If you don't confide in me, who else is there?'

When her hands moved up to his face, he gripped her hard, lowering his face to her hair. ‘We won't lose another child. I swear it to you.'

Despite his efforts to block the memory of his daughter, he saw Adaira's face in his mind. He remembered the
sweetness of her smile and the way she would skip and gallop instead of walk. He'd surrender every last drop of his blood for her.

Just as he would for his wife. In her eyes, he saw the disappointment. He didn't know what she wanted from him. Dwelling on the past wouldn't change it.

But perhaps…by holding back his thoughts, he was hurting her more.

‘When we lost our son, there was nothing I could do to comfort you,' he said at last. ‘Nothing I could say to take away your pain.'

‘I was afraid to reach out to you,' she admitted. ‘You never spoke of it.'

‘It was the worst moment of my life. I'd wanted a son so badly…and then to lose him so soon—' The only thing worse than losing David was losing his wife.

She reached up to take his face in her hands. ‘We'll have another son one day. And he'll grow up to be as strong as his father.'

He kissed her. ‘One day, perhaps.'

Laren reached for his hand and brought it to rest upon her womb. She remained still and he moved his fingers in a circular motion. ‘Have you felt the bairn move within you yet?'

She shook her head. ‘But I'm feeling a little better. Not as tired or sick.'

For a time, he rested his hand there, as if willing their unborn child to be safe. ‘I won't fail you, Laren,' he vowed. ‘I'll bring Adaira home.'

She drew him to lie down beside her, but he remained protective of her body. He smoothed her hair back from her temple and she twined her legs with his. The future was too
uncertain right now. He didn't know what threats awaited them or what had already happened to their daughter.

Laren was staring at him, her blue eyes filled with unspoken emotions. He cradled her face, as if he could hold the image in his mind for ever. God above, he loved her.

He kissed her mouth, drifting lower to her throat. Though the layer of her gown separated him from her bare skin, he kissed her ribs, the swell of her hip, then he laid his mouth upon their unborn baby.

‘You're going to live,' he whispered to the child, ‘and grow strong. I promise you.'

No matter what happens to me.

His wife reached down to him and guided him back up to look at her. ‘You speak as if you're not coming back.'

He couldn't lie to her about this. Instead, he caressed her cheek, looking steadily into her eyes. ‘I will do anything to send her back to you.'

‘Don't make me choose,' she ordered. ‘Don't ever make me choose between your life or Adaira's.' Her voice was trembling and she closed her eyes, pressing her mouth to his palm.

‘It won't come to that.' Especially if there was no choice to be made. Any father would willingly sacrifice himself for his child. Just as Tavin had surrendered his own life for Bram.

When he was a boy, he hadn't understood it. He'd been the one to find his mother raging over her husband's body. He'd looked into his father's sightless eyes, unable to understand why Tavin had taken the sword that was meant for his brother.