Amanda Scott (28 page)

“Aye, the lass has many skills,” MacDonald said proudly. “Often do I heed her counsel as she grows older and more experienced with things beyond those her lady mother taught her.” With a steady look at Lachlan, he added, “She will make her royal husband a fine wife, indeed.”

Despite yearning to contradict that statement, Lachlan maintained his part in the conversation politely as his gaze swept right, left, and back again. He might hope Mackinnon’s men would put self-preservation first and not chance loosing an arrow near MacDonald, but he was not such a fool as to add trust to that hope.

He knew Hector watched too, and that Lady Axe sat loosely in her sling, ready to leap to his brother’s hand at the least hint of trouble.

As they neared the bluff overlooking Craignure Bay, his gaze paused briefly at the stone watchtower. Its only arrow slits faced the Sound, as he had noted while passing earlier, but its crenellated battlements commanded a view in all directions.

A lurking enemy could easily conceal himself there.

Catching Hector’s eye, he saw that the danger of the watchtower had struck him, and winked to let him know he believed all was well.

They passed the tower minutes later, and although the door at its base stood ajar, as it had not earlier, he saw no sign of life and was satisfied.

Below them, the tide neared its highest point of the day, boats were loading, and one just pulling away from the jetty carried Mairi, her mother and sister, and most of the other women. A skyward glance revealed that the clouds that had hovered in the west after the mist had cleared were nearer, darkening ominously as they gathered moisture. The wind blew from the west now, rendering sails useless for the upwind journey back. The crossing might get rough, but the oarsmen were strong, well fed, and rested, and he was certain all the boats would make it safely back before the storm struck except, possibly, Mackinnon’s.

They reached the jetty in time for MacDonald to bid the other boats farewell and to board his own. Despite the lack of the Duart boat, the departure of all the ladies with Lady Margaret had left room in the others for more men, leaving only old Cameron of Lochaber, MacDuffie of Colonsay, MacDougall, and MacDonald’s body servant to ride with him in the royal galley.

“I still have plenty of room, as we see,” he said to Lachlan. “You are welcome to ride back with me if you like.”

“Thank you, sir, but if Niall Mackinnon finds us gone, he may think the boat from Duart returned and left with us. Then, if anyone lingers—mayhap those stragglers you mentioned—he’ll unknowingly leave them behind.”

“Faith, lad, his boat is tied yonder. I see no oarsman or helmsman, so they must be seeing to other tasks, but doubtless the lads with the horses will tell him.”

Smiling, Lachlan said, “An it please your grace, we’ll wait as we promised. It may have escaped your notice, but your steward seems to have taken us in dislike. We know not why, but we’d as lief give him no further cause for enmity.”

“’Tis true that he seems to dislike you,” MacDonald agreed, “but I think the difficulty more likely lies between Niall and your father, and not with you.”

“Nonetheless—”

“Aye, I understand. Doubtless, I should do the same, for I’ve seen that you dislike fratching as much as I do. Proceed as you think best then, though I’m bound to say Niall can be a hard man when his mind is set. Still, you lads have made many friends at my court. If anyone can sway him, you will.”

“Thank you, sir,” Lachlan said, stifling a twinge of guilt at the turn MacDonald’s thoughts had taken, and not daring to look at Hector.

Hector waited until they were alone on the jetty watching MacDonald’s oarsmen pull away before he said, “Do you think that was wise?”

“Do you think I’d have been wiser to say we suspect his high steward of plotting to murder us and want to see if our trap catches him at it?”

“What I think is that Mackinnon will complain about whatever happens after your trap springs and will tell the tale in such a way as—”

“Let us finish this conversation elsewhere,” Lachlan interjected. “We’ll be out of sight of the royal galley in a few minutes and should find cover before then. I suggest that watchtower.”

Setting a fast pace, he led the way up the hill, but they had gone less than halfway when he saw that they were too late.

At least a score of armed men lined the hilltop above.

“We’re in God’s hands now, for we’re open targets,” Hector muttered.

“Wave,” Lachlan said, looking up with a smile and a jaunty wave. “Now, turn and walk back down to the jetty, so it looks as if we were just going to see if they were in sight yet. This venture is not proceeding as I’d planned, but it will do.”

“Sakes, they’ll shoot us in the back if we walk away.”

“If they do, how will they explain the arrow holes in our backs to his grace?” Lachlan asked. “Mackinnon can scarcely claim his men were shooting at a stray buck on the jetty and hit us instead. They’ll at least come closer first. Just pray he lacks the patience to wait until we’re aboard his boat to reveal his true intent.”

“In troth, I’d feel a deal safer on his boat.”

“Until he orders swords drawn, dispatches us, and throws us overboard.”

Hector growled low in his throat as he said, “I’ve never cared much for your damnably clever imagination, my lad.”

“You’d like the reality less.”

“Aye, so what’s our plan now?”

“To let him think for a few minutes more that everything is as he wants it.”

“You lead the way then, because if you are wrong and those lads let fly, at least Lady Axe can deflect a few of their arrows if I am behind you.”

Lachlan did not argue, knowing it would be useless and would stir undesired curiosity from Mackinnon’s lot as to why they argued. Instead, he concentrated on walking as if he were not the least bit worried, albeit continuing to seek some sort of shelter to protect them until the others were near enough for swords to count. Two unstrung bows against twenty or more would be useless.

He concluded that their sole, slim hope in a rain of arrows was to dive into the water and swim for the Morvern shore. But trying to outswim Mackinnon’s galley once his oarsmen were in it would be hopeless, so he was almost relieved as he stepped onto the jetty to hear the villain shout his name.

“Lachlan Lubanach, I would speak to you!”

Turning, he gestured for Hector to step aside and give him a clear view of Mackinnon as the high steward led his men down the hill. A number of them held tautly strung bows. Several had arrows nocked.

“Walk past me onto the jetty,” he muttered to his brother. “I wonder if he thinks us fools or simply did not notice the weapons his men are carrying.”

“Thinks us fools,” Hector muttered back as he strolled past. “Damnable cheek, but nearly do I agree with him.”

With battle near, Lachlan’s concerns vanished and his mind focused sharply on the moment. Watching the oncoming men, knowing Hector was doing the same, he kept his hands loose at his sides as if he had no thought of drawing sword or dirk, and waited for Mackinnon to come near enough to say what he wanted to say.

The wind was stronger now, kicking up foam on the waves of the Sound and the bay, and driving them against the jetty. Mackinnon’s empty galley rocked and banged against the wood timbers.

“You have betrayed his grace’s trust, Lachlan Lubanach,” Mackinnon shouted with a smirk. “I have orders to take you prisoner.”

“Indeed, and how is that? His grace gave me to understand that he thinks highly of me and mine.”

“He leaves such unpleasantness to me,” Mackinnon said, closer now.

“Faith, but I’d no notion he was afraid to speak his mind to me, let alone that he would designate a mere Mackinnon to act for him,” Lachlan retorted.

“By heaven, you take life in hand to speak to me so!” Mackinnon snapped. “You can see that we have you outnumbered, so remove your weapons, both of you, or we’ll remove them for you.”

“First, perhaps, you should look behind you,” Lachlan said gently.

Mackinnon turned to see a Clan Gillean banner waving from the watchtower battlements. Lined along the hilltop where his men had been before, well within bowshot, stood forty men of Clan Gillean, bows drawn and arrows nocked.

Mackinnon’s men gaped, relaxing their weapons.

“By God, you go too far,” Mackinnon snarled, snatching out his sword as he bellowed, “At them! Kill them all!” Wheeling, he lunged at Lachlan with his sword, snarling, “Your louts won’t dare shoot when they could strike you or me!”

But Lachlan’s sword was out, and he easily parried the stroke. As he did, the man behind Mackinnon raised his bow, arrow nocked, and aimed at Lachlan, only to collapse before he could shoot, felled by Hector’s flying battle-axe.

Hector’s sword and dirk were out as well, and battle joined as Mackinnon’s men strove to defend themselves against Clan Gillean’s onslaught. Twice, when a man of Gillean met his match, an arrow from the tower battlements saved him. Others accounted for Mackinnons up and down the hill, because the highly skilled archers on the tower shot with the wind, and the tower protected their arrows’ flight.

Lachlan continued to fight Mackinnon, and Hector ran past them to engage a pair of Mackinnon’s men who had drawn great two-handed swords to help him.

Mackinnon was an excellent swordsman, but Lachlan knew he could hold his own if his clansmen could hold off the other men-at-arms. He knew, too, that the older man would tire more quickly than he would.

“You had no orders from his grace,” he said, smiling as he danced nimbly back along the jetty, knowing that his smile would infuriate his opponent.

In answer, Mackinnon lunged, but Lachlan parried the attack with a two-handed, slashing stroke. Steel rang against steel, and Mackinnon showed little sign of wearying. However, as they drew alongside the empty longboat, he slipped in a puddle on one of the wide timbers.

Not wanting to take unfair advantage, Lachlan checked his stroke, only to see Mackinnon lunge hard instead of falter. Recognizing the feint in time, he flung himself to one side, but the blade of Mackinnon’s sword caught his sleeve and pierced the flesh beneath.

“First blood to me, I believe,” Mackinnon said.

“Aye, but you don’t deny my accusation,” Lachlan said, parrying the next stroke. “I say you are a liar, and MacDonald likes me well.”

“Mayhap he will speak well at your funeral,” Mackinnon said, his breathing labored at last. “You’ll never marry his daughter.”

“That remains to be seen. But you will not have her.”

“His grace believes what I tell him.”

“You forget the many witnesses to your attack on two innocent men who had done you no harm.”

“You assume that your men will beat mine.”

“They are doing so right speedily,” Lachlan assured him as he lunged.

“Have you looked toward yonder battlements?” Mackinnon said, gasping, as he whacked the thrust aside. “I think you should.”

As Lachlan glanced up, Mackinnon flipped his own sword, bringing the hilt up hard from the ground, aimed right at Lachlan’s head.

“Aye, sir, I see that the battlements are still mine,” Lachlan said, stepping aside so that the very weight of Mackinnon’s heavy sword pulled the man to him as he made his own thrust. “Your men drop like walnuts from trees in a wind.”

Although Lachlan’s thrust went wide of its mark, Mackinnon had clearly expected his to connect, for he turned as if to look at the hill again, then turned back into the path of Lachlan’s blade. Regarding him with astonishment, he clutched his chest, stumbled, and still gripping his heavy sword, fell headlong into the water between the jetty and the longboat.

Lachlan stared at his bloody sword and stepped to the edge, leaning against the boat to widen the gap and look down. The roiling water was too deep at cliffside to see bottom, and he saw only bubbles and a spreading slick of blood on the water.

He saw that Hector had dispatched at least three of the villains, and that he and the other men of Gillean would soon disarm or kill any who refused to surrender. Then a shout came from above, and the rest of Mackinnon’s men, evidently noting the disappearance of their master, threw down their arms.

“Hector, I want you,” he called.

“Where’s Mackinnon?”

“Dead, I’m afraid,” Lachlan said, gesturing toward the water. “I struck him in the chest and he fell in. He hasn’t come up.”

“Likely he won’t then,” Hector said, peering into the water as Lachlan had done earlier, with the same result. “You know as well as I that bodies don’t float unless they still have enough life in them to swim or flail about.”

“Could he be clinging to the longboat?”

Hector leaped into the boat and peered over the opposite side. “There’s nowt to cling to unless he’s hanging from the steerboard, and I can see he’s not. We’ll watch for him, but if your sword went into his chest, I’ll wager the man has sped to the arms of God or the Devil, and I’m guessing that was no part of your plan.”

“No.” Glancing up the hill, he saw that his men had Mackinnon’s all in hand.

“Where did they all come from?” Hector asked.

“His lads at the clearing, plus his boatmen, I suppose.”

“I meant our lot,” Hector said grimly.

“I sent word last night to all our people on Mull, of course. Only a few are men-at-arms by trade, but some are first-rate bowmen and most can wield swords deftly enough. I counted on greater numbers and surprising them, and when I saw the watchtower, I knew it might be wise to take control of it in order to command the field here if we survived the hunt. The jetty was always the most logical place to take a stand. I feared, however, that Mackinnon might realize that for himself.”

“He did, my lord.”

Recognizing the man he had put in charge of the force from Clan Gillean, Lachlan said, “What do you mean by that, Rankin?”

“When we took the tower, we found two lads here afore us,” Rankin said. “We killed one, but we’ve got the other tied up inside.”

“Let’s have a look at them,” Lachlan said. “Mayhap your captive and one or two of these other prisoners can help us with a wee problem we now face.”