Black Raven's Lady: Highland Lairds Trilogy (27 page)

The heavy wooden gate and iron portcullis, along with half the watchtower, had been blown away. The outer bailey quickly filled with a melee of fighting clansmen. The yellow-and-black kilts of Clan MacMurchaidh were clearly visible as the castle’s vanguard raced to push back the intruders.

Keir searched for their chief among the fighting men but not one of them resembled his prey. He realized with grim dispassion there wasn’t a single Macdonald plaid amongst the defenders. Hell and damnation. He wouldn’t have the pleasure of arresting Donald Dubh today. The scoundrel must have made his escape in MacMurchaidh’s galley before the three galleons sailed into the harbor.

The clash of steel rang out as MacNeils fought alongside MacLeans in their green-and-black tartans and MacRaths in red-and-black plaid. The fighting flooded into the inner bailey directly below Keir. He caught sight of Colin, tall, lean, and easily recognizable with his shock of coppery hair. The young man swung a double-bladed boarding axe with whipcord strength and neatly decapitated a large, burly soldier, sending the head soaring above the other fighters. Rich, red blood spattered over them like a summer shower. On the back stroke, Colin sliced across another man’s torso, opening his chest all the way to the beating heart.

With Macraith right behind him, Keir raced down the winding outer steps to join the fray. Screaming and shouting, clansmen fought with swords, dirks, and long-handled pikes.

Keir met a castle soldier swinging a Lochaber axe. Dodging the deadly forward swing, he parried the blow with his solid wooden targe and skewered his opponent with his broadsword.

Keir looked over just in time to see Tam run his sword through a beefy guardsman, then stand on the man’s chest to jerk his blade free from between the ribs. The yellow-haired MacLean grinned at Keir, lifted his bloody sword in a brief salute, and turned to find another opponent.

In the chaos, Abid al-Rahman worked his way methodically through the crush of fighters, swinging his scimitar with deadly accuracy, lopping off MacMurchaidh heads, arms, and legs with indiscriminate precision.

Keir spotted Fearchar coming down the outer stairs from the ramparts above. “Have you seen MacMurchaidh?” he shouted.

Fearchar pointed toward the wide stone steps leading to the donjon. “Look over there, laddie,” he said with a chuckle. “Someone’s waiting for you.”

At that moment a guard with a pike attacked the colossus, swinging wildly. Light-footed and resilient, Fearchar evaded the oncoming blade and hacked downward with his two-handed claymore, splitting the pikeman from head to crotch before he could begin his back swing.

Amongst the carnage the landing parties relentlessly pushed the castle’s defenders into tight groups fighting for their lives in close-quarter combat. Facing certain death, the soldiers began to throw down their weapons and surrender.

Keir moved in the direction Fearchar had indicated. Torcall stood waiting in front of the donjon’s open doorway, his huge claymore held in his two hands.

Keir handed his broadsword and wooden targe to Macraith. Reaching behind his head, Keir withdrew his own claymore from its sheath on his back.

“Laird MacMurchaidh,” Keir shouted across the wide bailey scattered with corpses, the injured, and dying. “I arrest you in the name of the king!”

Beneath his dark brown hair, Torcall’s face turned white, but he came down the steps and approached Keir with a look of deadly determination. “I owe no allegiance to the king of Scotland,” he answered, his voice sharp with scorn. “I’ve sworn on my life to defend the true lord of the Isles, Donald Dubh MacDonald.

Without warning, Raine Cameron bolted through the donjon’s doorway and raced down the steps. “Stop, Keir, stop!” she cried. She didn’t halt until she was standing between the two men armed with claymores, their four-foot long-blades catching the morning sunlight and reflecting it back to the fascinated onlookers.

Raine held out her arms to keep them apart. “Don’t kill him, Keir! I’m begging you not to kill him! Laird MacMurchaidh is my father.”

By unspoken, mutual consent, Keir and Torcall stepped back from the distraught lass, neither willing to take a chance on injuring her.

Keir glanced over to his uncle, who stood watching beside Fearchar and al-Rahman. Macraith came over and gently lifted Raine off her feet. He carried her like a child’s doll to where the others stood well out of danger. Setting her down, he kept his large hand firmly on her shoulder and held her in place beside him.

The two combatants turned to each other and gave a quick salute with their swords. Keir immediately closed in on his enemy, circling lightly on his feet as he sought an opening. Their blades crashed together in an explosion of sound. Torcall grunted under the strength of Keir’s brutal blows but managed to keep his blade up and recover his balance.

In his mid-forties, MacMurchaidh clearly excelled at swordplay. He had the strong arms and deep chest of a practiced swordsman. And his years had provided him with a wily ability to predict his opponent’s next move. He advanced in a crouch and then lunged. Keir pivoted and blocked the slicing blow.

Again and again their claymores clanged together as each opponent tried to beat down the other’s blade. Wrenching and parrying, the two enemies moved across the open bailey, stepping over bodies sprawled across their makeshift arena. The mighty steel blades gleamed in the summer sunshine as the two experienced swordsmen moved back and forth, causing the bystanders to leap out of their way, only inches from the deadly points.

For Keir there was never a doubt who would emerge the victor.

The older man began to slow, nearly tripping on a dead kinsman lying in the way. His face grew red. Sweat poured down his neck and soaked his shirt.

Keir used his greater strength and longer reach to drive the traitor backward relentlessly. MacMurchaidh staggered under the merciless offensive and his arms began to shake beneath his breath-stealing exertion.

Their eyes met. In that instant both men recognized that neither wanted to deliver a death blow to his opponent. Not in front of the heartbroken lassie cradled in Macraith’s brawny arms.

Fatigued and gasping for breath, Torcall began to grow clumsy. His blade wavered, the weight of the enormous sword dragging his wrists downward.

With the tip of his claymore, Keir deftly snagged the large cross-guard on the handle of his opponent’s sword and sent the weapon flying.

Shouts of warning rang out through the crowd as the sharp blade soared through the air over their heads. The mighty battle-sword finally skidded across the stones to rest harmlessly at Colin’s feet.

Weaponless, MacMurchaidh stood in front of Keir with his head high, waiting with the indomitable courage of a Scotsman for the death blow to come.

“Please, Keir, I beg you,” Raine screamed, her anguished plea carrying across the bailey in the sudden, breathless quiet that had descended around the two swordsmen. Frantic, she tried to pull away from Macraith, who refused to let her go. “Please, don’t kill my father!”

Keir heard the raw pain in her voice and remained absolutely still.

Against his sense of duty, honor, and loyalty to his family and clan, against all he believed as a warrior and faithful defender of Scotland and his king, he lowered his sword and spared the traitor’s life.

Keir’s love for Raine trumped everything else.

The moment Keir took a step back, his uncle released Raine. She ran over to the two enemies, tears streaming down her face.

The chief of Clan MacMurchaidh gently clasped Raine’s shoulders and met her gaze. His face looked suddenly haggard and lined with defeat. His head bowed, Torcall spoke softly, so only she and Keir could hear. “Lady Raine Cameron, I am not your father. You should have been my daughter, and I wish to God you were, but ’tisn’t so.

“I should have told you the truth at Calbhaigh, but I wanted you to accompany me willingly. I hoped that your mother would come to my castle when she learned that you were my hostage.

“Nina Paterson and I were once deeply in love. We planned to run away together, for I was even then a hunted man. I waited in the woods for Nina for three long days, but she never came. As God is my witness, I swear to you, lass, when I fled the Highlands, your exquisite mother and I had never lain together as man and woman.”

Raine’s face turned white. Her wide-set black eyes seemed to lose their glow, as if a light had been extinguished inside her. Stepping back from Torcall, she started to stumble.

Keir put his arms around Raine, his heart aching for her bitter disappointment. She turned into his embrace and buried her face against his chest, sobbing inconsolably.

Macraith, Fearchar, and Colin, holding the claymore, slowly approached, their sympathy for the distraught lass written on their dirty, battle-weary faces.

“What shall we do about the castle?” Macraith asked quietly.

Keir turned to look at MacMurchaidh, head bowed, standing in defeat before his partly ruined fortress.

“Leave it,” Keir told them. “Leave it all just as it is. If King James wants the place destroyed, he can send someone else. I’m taking Lady Raine back to her mother in Archnacarry Manor.”

His teeth flashing in his bearded face, Macraith grinned at his companions. “Come on, lads,” he said joyfully. “We’re going home to the Highlands.”

Chapter 23

R
AINE STOOD IN
front of the stern windows in Keir’s cabin, watching the Isle of Lewis grow smaller in the distance. The
Black
Raven,
the
Sea Dragon
, and the
Sea Hawk
had left the harbor of Steòrnabhagh that morning and were now spread out across the Minch in a homeward race. Whichever crew reached Loch Linne first would be handsomely rewarded by their captain.

Three members of the
Raven
’s crew had been killed in the fighting, and their bodies solemnly consigned to the sea. Raine had spent the rest of the day in the ship’s cockpit working alongside Jasper Barrows. At first Keir had tried to dissuade her from helping with the wounded, saying she’d gone through enough upheaval since leaving Castle Calbhaigh. But Raine had been adamant. The need to be of assistance to those suffering overrode any sorrow that weighed on her mind and heart.

Raine and her sea-daddy had patched and bandaged the men who’d sustained injuries during the siege and ensuing battle. Iain Davidson, the ship’s carpenter, had suffered a deep cut across his upper arm. ’Twas fortunate no major vein or bone had been severed, but the bleeding had been profuse. Their first step required staunching the blood using a long scarf tightened above the wound. In order to see the ragged edges of torn skin clearly and match them together, Raine washed the cut with the special concoction of herbs she’d brought from home. Then she and Barrows carefully stitched up the ugly laceration.

Assisted by Ethan and Robbie, Raine and Barrows set and splinted several broken bones. Davie Swinton, the
Raven
’s cooper, had sustained a bad burn from a red-hot cannon barrel, which required Raine’s special salve.

After all the patients had been treated and given a ration of rum to ease the pain, Barrows grinned at Raine in triumph. “Nay a single amputation today,” he said, pleasure lighting his weather-lined face. “It warms my heart, lassie, to have you bring your magical medicine into my sickbay.”

She smiled at his choice of words and shook her head. “Nay, not magical,” she told him, “but healing recipes I learned from my Aunt Isabel.”

At the sound of her aunt’s name, Raine felt the acute stab of homesickness—so sharp and poignant she thought her broken heart might shatter into pieces.

Dear Lord, how she yearned to be home again with her family at Archnacarry Manor.

I
N THE EVENING
twilight Raine watched the stars come out through the four tall stern windows. She slowly unbraided her hair, letting it fall in waves about her shoulders as she absently picked out the familiar constellations. Ursa Major. Ursa Minor. The Pleiades and Orion. By now she could also find Pegasus, Hercules, and Aquarius, as well as the planets Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn. And of course Venus, the Evening Star, hung low in the western sky.

But in spite of the brilliance of the summer night, Raine felt numb, drained of all the violent emotions that had tossed her about like the storm she’d survived, until she was too exhausted to think.

The ordinary sounds of the galleon moving before the wind comforted her. The deep male voices calling out to one another as the sails were being hauled and trimmed to catch the most wind possible. The shrill
tweet-tweet-tweet
of the bosun’s pipe marking the change of the watch. The calling out of the ship’s speed in knots as the log was being thrown. In the midst of all these muffled noises, she heard Keir enter his quarters and turned to greet him.

The chief of Clan MacNeil wore only his belted green-and-black kilt and leather sporran. His chest and feet were bare and his damp hair fell loose to his shoulders. “I cleaned up with the crew on the main deck earlier,” he explained. “After a battle we strip off our soiled clothing, suds ourselves down, and pour buckets of water over our heads to wash away the blood and grime and the stink of gunpowder.”

“Barrows explained the ritual,” Raine replied, “and warned me to stay below with him amidships.”

Keir’s marvelous green eyes conveyed the depth of his compassion. Without words Raine knew he felt her pain as though it were his own. He glanced at the dishes on the table and back to her with a worried frown. “Did you eat?”

“I ate a little,” she said, forcing a tiny smile in the hopes of easing his concern.

“I can request something more,” he suggested. “Something sweet—perhaps pudding like the lads used to steal from the cook and secrete away in your cabin.”

“Thank you but nay,” Raine answered as she recalled their smiling faces. “Ethan and Robbie were so happy when I came back on board this morning,” she added. “Everyone was wonderful.”

After the battle Raine and Keir had been rowed out to the
Raven
in the ship’s cutter, along with Macraith and other members of the landing party. The entire crew had cheered when Keir assisted Raine up the ladder, while Barrows helped her over the side and onto the gangway.

“If you hadn’t come back with me,” Keir said with a lopsided grin, “there would have been a mutiny on the
Raven
.”

Raine tried to smile. Instead she had to bite her lower lip to keep it from trembling. She looked down absently at her bloodstained shirt and trousers. She’d changed out of her borrowed gown and into the sailor’s garb before going belowdecks to sickbay. Her fingers shaking, she tried to brush away a dark spot and gave up, realizing ’twas a hopeless task.

“I’ve ordered a bath for you,” Keir said, the timbre of his deep baritone as gentle and reassuring as if he spoke to a child.

“A bath would be nice,” she agreed.

Raine looked away, not wanting him to see the tears that suddenly welled up in her eyes. Feelings of loss and confusion continued to wash over her in waves. For the last two years she’d been positive that she understood her vision. She had believed without a doubt that the chief of Clan MacMurchaidh was her father.

They heard a polite knock and turned toward the source.

“There’s your tub now,” Keir said and went over to open the door wide.

Hector rolled in a large wine vat that had been cut in half. Ethan and Robbie followed, carrying two buckets of warm water each and poured them into the wooden tub. The lads smiled at her shyly, then ducked their heads, no doubt embarrassed at the thought of filling her bath, and hurried out of the cabin.

“Will that be all, sir?” Hector asked after adding two more large pails of hot water and then lighting a lantern. He glanced over at Raine, his eyes filled with sympathy. By now the entire crew had been apprised of all that had happened at Castle Murchaidh.

“Aye,” Keir told him. “That’ll be all, Mr. MacFarlane. You may retire for the evening. I won’t need you again tonight.”

With a brief bow to Raine, the pale-haired young man left, closing the door quietly behind him.

Taking a deep breath, Raine sank down in a chair beside the game table in front of the stern windows. She met Keir’s gaze and blurted out the thought that’d been running through her mind all afternoon. “Do you think Laird MacMurchaidh was telling the truth?”

Keir didn’t seem the least surprised at her question. He crossed the cabin and dropped to his knees in front of her. “Aye, I do,” he said as he began to remove her shoes. “I believe the man spoke the truth, love. There’d hardly be a reason for him to lie.”

Leaning forward, Raine braced her hands on Keir’s bare shoulders. She recalled the way he’d held her secure in his arms when they’d been swept overboard. And his undaunted courage as he’d fought the enormous waves and the violent storm to keep her alive. She doubted any other man could have done the same.

She bent her head close to his and continued in a near whisper. “I know he’s very fond of his daughter, Amie. She’s such a sweet lass and clearly loves her father. Maybe Torcall didn’t want to upset his family by recognizing me as his natural daughter.”

“ ’Tis possible,” Keir agreed, rolling down her stockings and gently massaging her calves and feet. “But I don’t think MacMurchaidh would do that. Not after he acknowledged how desperately he once loved your beautiful mother.” As Keir lightly rubbed Raine’s toes, he looked up and gave her a bracing smile. “If you recall, the laird swore to God he wished you were his daughter.”

Raine nodded, releasing a long, drawn-out sigh, unable to put her bereft feelings into words. ’Twas as though someone she loved had just died, and she was trying to come to grips with her loss.

“I used to hate my father,” Keir said, his quiet words filled with understanding. He unbuttoned Raine’s blue striped shirt and slipped her arms out of the long sleeves. “I thought the evil things said about Ruaidh Athaeuch were true. Now I’m nay so certain.” He pulled her soiled shirt away and tossed it on the rug, then bracketed her hips with his palms. “Since I was eight years old, I believed a lie told out of envy and spite. I thought my father had abducted and raped my mother, and I was the result of his despicable act. When people called me the Black Beast’s Spawn, I thought ’twas justified.”

Shocked at his admission, Raine touched Keir’s jaw, covered with a thick stubble of beard. “Oh, my darling!” she said, her fingers trembling, “I never once suspected how you felt.”

“Nor did anyone else,” he said with a shrug, “for I hid my shame well.”

Her thumbs resting at the corners of his mouth, Raine shook her head in amazement. “Whenever you came to visit us at Archnacarry, you always seemed so arrogant and brash, so cocksure of yourself.”

Kissing her fingertips, Keir grinned at her honesty. “Hell, I acted like an arrogant, brash pup. ’Twas a wonder my brothers didn’t thrash the daylights out of me just to teach me some humility.” He brought Raine to her feet and unbuckled the belt that held her loose trousers. Bending on one knee before her, he pulled the rough material down to her ankles.

“Sometimes,” Raine confessed as she lifted one foot and then the other, allowing him to remove the sailor’s trousers and drawers, “I feel guilty about wanting to know my natural father. Gideon was so loving and kind to me. Mayhap, I shouldn’t try to replace him.”

Keir lifted the hem of her shortened chemise and rising to his feet, pulled it over her head. “Mayhap, that’d be for the best.”

“Keir,” she said on a sigh, barely cognizant that she stood unclothed before him, “do you think that Gideon was my father?”

Raine met Keir’s gaze and read the honest answer in his compassionate eyes. “Rainey, love,” he said softly, “it doesn’t matter who your father was. You are not your father, no more than I am mine. I swear to you, lass, that as long as I am alive, no man will ever dare to question your heritage.”

Keir’s heart hammered against his ribcage at the sight of Raine’s slender, naked form. Beneath his kilt, his groin tightened with primal anticipation. Recognizing her feelings of loss and confusion, he deliberately tried to gain a measure of control over his licentious body. His head and his heart were schooled on a short, tight leash. Under his blue-and-green tartan, however, his erect manhood refused to be tamed.

God above, how he wanted her.

His rapacious gaze moved over her supple figure, the firm ivory globes and velvet nipples, the small waist, the gentle curve of her hips, the puff of ebony curls at the juncture of her thighs hiding her fragile petals. Like a starving man, he feasted on the sight of her perfect female body. ’Twas all he could do to keep from reaching out and palming her exposed breasts or flicking the pad of his thumbs over their delicate, rosy tips.

Keir wanted Raine more than he’d ever wanted anyone or anything in his life. But even more than his own sexual fulfillment, he wanted to ease her heartache and bring her a measure of comfort throughout the night.

Trying to ignore the carnal desire pounding through his heart and flooding every vein, Keir opened his leather sporran and withdrew the heart-shaped stone inscribed in an ancient, unknown language.

“I’m returning your magic rock,” he said with a teasing grin. He placed the heart-shaped stone beside the chessboard on the table nearby.

“You kept my rune!” she exclaimed, her midnight eyes alight with pleasure. “I was certain you’d thrown it away in your anger.” She smiled at last. ’Twas like the sun peeking from behind storm clouds.

“ ’Tis more important for you to feel safe,” he told her, making no attempt to hide his skepticism.

“If we stay close together,” she whispered softly, as though revealing the secret solution to a faery riddle, “its magic will work for both of us.”

Keir bent down and brushed his mouth over her soft lips. “Oh, aye, lass,” he murmured, “from now on ’tis my intention that we stay very close together.”

When he scooped her up, Raine slipped her arms around his neck and bussed him lightly on the mouth. He returned the kiss, telling her with his lips and tongue how intensely he longed to ease her sorrow. Carrying her to the large vat, he set her down on her round little rump in the steaming water.

“Wait a moment,” he told her as he walked across the cabin. “I’ve something for your bath.” He opened the lid of his sea chest and returned with a soft cloth and soap scented with exotic spices from the Indies, which he dropped into the clear water in front of her.

“Oh, my,” Raine said in delight, “perfumed soap.” She lifted it to her nose and inhaled deeply, then raised her arched brows in surprise. “How is it you have this—” she started to ask, then shook her head. “Never mind.”

Keir quirked an eyebrow at her unfinished question. “I’m a lad who likes to be prepared,” he informed her with a lascivious grin.

Raine’s laughter burst out, and the musical notes seemed to wrap themselves around his heart. “I refuse to ask what you’re prepared for,” she declared.

Keir bent and kissed the top of her head. “ ’Tis just as well, for I don’t intend to say.” He knelt down beside the wooden tub. “Lean back and wet your hair,” he instructed, “and I’ll wash it for you.”

He waited as Raine obediently slipped all the way under the warm water, then sat up and wiped the drops from her eyes. She allowed him to wash and rinse her long black tresses. As he cupped his hands and poured water over her bent head, it splashed across the front of his sporran and kilt.