Heart of the Highlands: The Beast (Protectors of the Crown Book 1) (22 page)

His plan was working magnificently as all of his plans usually did. Second son to Laird Farrell Chisholm, Thomas was used to having to fight for what he wanted. Second in line, he was a shadow; often ignored by his father and his eldest brother Creighton, who reaped the benefits of Lairdship of their clan.

With an abundance of time on his hands, Thomas grew up studying politics, theology and law. In his younger years he thought to pursue a military position against their English enemies, but after the fall of his father’s regime, their clan suffered several casualties; left with nothing but a damaged castle and a broken spirit. Until he happened to run across another man bent on revenge against James, Archibald Douglas; the king’s step-father. James banished him from Scotland and the man was just as eager for vengeance as Thomas was.

With no great position, there was little Thomas could do, which led him to killing his own brother and securing his place as Laird. After that, the pieces fell into place. Thomas was stronger than his brother and much more intelligent. He managed to unite his clan with several others. With Thomas and Archibald Douglas feeding each other information, both of their power and influence grew stronger.

With Thomas’s alliance with Douglas, he was promised titles and land in England as well as a proper position within the king’s army, which would grant him nobility. The reward could not be sweeter if the King of England himself wrapped it up in a bright red bow.

James was young, inexperienced and easily influenced by his councilmen. He was not fit to be king.

Chapter 28

“Ian!” Leland hollered. “The men have returned.”

Ian pushed himself off the ground and stood up. He could see the men Leland had sent to scout riding toward them.

“My Laird, we spotted Sutherlands no’ too far from here. But we did no’ see any sign of Lady MacKay,” Rylan informed him.

“How many?” Ian asked.

“At least twenty men.”

Leland turned to Ian and asked, “What are ye thinking?”

Ian looked out over the horizon and pondered his next move. Like any game of war, Ian knew that he must first plan out his strategy in order to find Keira; much like in a game of chess. Most warriors well-trained in battle moved their men into position and then struck. But if the warrior expected to win, he must predict his opponent’s movements first. Any man can run out onto the battlefield waving his sword around, hoping to hit its target, but a smart man waited to make each strike count.

Ian waged that if Laird Sutherland took Keira, he would not want her in harm’s way. He would want to keep her safe and away from his battalion. She would do him no good if she were dead. Therefore, chasing after his men would only put a greater distance between him and Keira and very well could result in unnecessary loss of life. If his men were directly north and the sea was directly to the east of their position, his only option was to head west.   

“We head west!”

“But what of the Sutherlands?” Rylan asked. “Ye surely dinna intend to just leave them?”

“Lady Keira is my only concern. Perhaps we should leave a few men behind. If they believe we were too busy fighting off their men, we can surprise them when they least expect it.”

“I will stay wit’ a few of the men. We are no’ too far from Fraser land. We will find refuge there,” Rylan suggested.

“Take care, my friend. God speed,” Ian said holding his arm out to Rylan.

Rylan took his hand in his.

“I will. Dinna worry about the Sutherlands. I will have them chasing their own tails by nightfall. It is my plan to head south in the morning. I will send word once I petition the Duke of Annandale for my pardon. Once it is granted, I will be a free mon and will be able to return home once again in the Highlands.”

Rylan and four others mounted their horses and headed north. As for Ian, Leland and the remaining warriors, they headed into the westward winds.

After nearly an hour of riding, Ian spotted the same wheel tracks they had seen and followed yesterday. His hope was renewed the moment he saw them. The tracks were still fresh and he knew that it would be only a matter of time before he came upon their camp. The more westward they traveled the thick density of trees faded to patches of woodland, dwarf shrubs and open pastures.

Crossing the expanse of the terrain they entered the foothills of the stony mountains of Beinn Dearg. With its summit a steep incline and reaching more than three thousand feet in the air, no horse or cart could travel up the mountain side. Its only safe passage was by passing through the glen between the valleys of mountains.

As they continue upward, the air thinned, causing the men to breathe heavily. Strong winds blew fiercely as if a storm was approaching from the north.

Leading his men into unprotected, open terrain never sat well with Ian, but Keira’s safety weighed heavy on his mind. The longer she sat in the hands of his enemy, the more danger she was in, leaving Ian no choice but to continue onwards.

~*~

Night turned into day slower than usual. Perhaps it was because sleep eluded her or perhaps it was because time itself had unnaturally slowed. Keira laid on the pallet, her eyes dry from crying. Staring into nothingness she waited for an audience with her father.

His disloyal deceit burrowed a hole so deep in her soul that she felt he might as well stab her in the heart with his own dagger. At least then she would have the dignity to look into his eyes before he betrayed her instead of him cowering behind the façade he created.

It had been nearly two days and there was no sign of Ian. Her faith weakened with each passing moment, her hope in shreds.  She had no idea why she held onto hope at all. Thomas assured her that Ian would be facing the Sutherlands in a surprise attack which he’d orchestrated himself, and she had no doubt he meant every word that he said. She knew Laird Chisholm to be an influential man. How else would he have been able to convince so many Scots to go against their king?

These were dark days for Scotland. If Thomas succeeded in his plan, the English Throne would take precedence over Scotland. But if that happened, what would remain of the Scots loyal to James? No doubt Henry, the English King would weed them out like rats and Scotland would forever lose the independence that it has struggled to retain for hundreds of years. What would their forefathers think? So many great men had died for Scotland’s freedom and now Scotland was at the hand of one man’s mercy.

Thomas’s malevolence was sickening. She did not understand his motives or what he would gain by handing Scotland over to the English crown. His treachery must be worth its weight in gold, but Keira would not be surprised if the English failed to follow through with their promise.

King Henry would, however, have the support he needed to advance his war against the France. Perhaps that is what all of this was about. It was common knowledge that England and France were at war against one another.

Keira scolded herself for not paying better attention to the world of politics. Had she known at least a little more, she would have been better equipped before becoming a pawn in this game.

The flap to Keira’s tent opened and her father stepped inside. Keira took notice of the guard standing post outside her tent. Did Chisholm not trust him either?

Keira looked at her father as his expression remained unchanged. She hoped he felt shame and humiliation for disgracing his family. She hoped he felt riddled with guilt and that it clawed at him from the inside.

Before he even stepped inside the tent, Keira had already decided she would accept no apologies or excuses from the man. There was nothing he could say that would make her change how she felt. To her, he was already dead, and she had already said her goodbye. This man who stood before her was just a mere shell of what was once her father.

“I have nothing left to say to ye,” she said, looking at him in disgust. “The only question I have is did my mother know?”

Keira’s father held his head high, which angered her more. She had hoped he would fall to his knees and beg her forgiveness, but instead he stood tall and steadfast.   

“Nay and neither did yer sisters,” he responded. “I did what I had to, in order to protect my family,” he said, with no feeling in his voice.

“Nay Father, ye did what ye had to, only to protect yerself. Ye thought naught of yer family or yer clan. Mother would be disgraced by what ye have done,” she replied, her words piercing like swords.

Keira’s father stepped forward and slapped her across the face. She fell back a step by the force of his hand. Her eyes welled with tears as her cheek stung from his open-handed blow.

“I will no’ have ye speak to me that way,” he said in a deep, angry tone. “Ye are still my daughter.”

Keira clenched her teeth, desperate to lash out at the man, but for the first time in her life she feared him. In a life-changing moment, he stripped her of her words. Her father had been a hard man but never once did he strike her or her sisters. She grew up admiring him as any child would adore their father, but this man was no longer her father. He was a monster!

“Ye will do what Laird Chisholm tells ye to and that is final,” he barked his order, his eyes as cold as ice.

“Laird Sinclair,” the guard said, poking his head inside the tent. “We have company. Riders have been seen along the ridge heading this way.”

Magnus gave a sharp nod and glanced back at Keira, his look of warning that she yield to his words causing her to hate him even more. He coldly turned from her and exited the tent.

Keira’s heart leapt at the knowledge of riders approaching. She wanted nothing more than for it to be Ian. She didn’t know whether to leap for joy or keep herself grounded to save herself from disappointment. Folding her hands and bringing them to her chest, she prayed, pleaded and begged for it to be him.

Nothing would please her more than being back in her husband’s warm and safe embrace. She swore that she would never leave his side again.

~*~

As Magnus stepped out of the tent, Thomas charged toward him, blade drawn, heated with fury like a raging bull.

“Ye bloody eejit! Ye led them right to us!” Thomas yelled, his voice resonating around them.

“I did no such thing!” Magnus loudly defended.

“How else would they have found us? This hideout is far from the road and from peering eyes! Ye were careless!”

“I did exactly as ye instructed. They were supposed to head north and be greeted by the Sutherlands. Perhaps it was Sutherland who can no’ be trusted! Ye even said it yerself that Sutherland is a lying, cheating bastard! Do ye remember what I told ye at Inverness? I ne’er trusted the Sutherlands!”

Thomas eyed Magnus suspiciously. Perhaps, it was Thomas who could not be trusted. When Thomas first approached him about the alliance Magnus was hesitant to agree, but who could blame a man who was not of a sound mind? He had given up on caring about the world after the death of his wife and his mourning led to the breakdown of his own clan.

Thomas offered salvation. The world was ever-changing and Magnus was eager to change with it. Thomas promised him many things, including the protection of his daughters and an estate in England where he could peacefully live out his days away from the politics and pressures from the church.

After five long years, it took him until just now to realize that he was not fit to be Laird of his clan. He couldn’t even take care of himself, let alone take care of his clan. He looked at Chisholm as a mentor who would lead Clan Sinclair into victory. But he was wrong. He should not have let Chisholm help him escape the clutches of the King’s guardsmen at Inverness. He should have died that day on the gallows instead of allowing this farce to continue on.

Magnus stood proud in front of the Sherriff of Ross-Shire as he admitted his crimes. He knew his crimes would one day have to be answered; but he deeply regretted getting his daughter Keira involved. She was never supposed to be involved. It was the only reason he agreed to the marriage with Thomas Chisholm. He was meant to keep her safe.

Magnus looked over his shoulder to steal a glance at his young beautiful daughter. The moment he saw her red eyes he felt pain-stricken. God, she looked like her mother. Magnus clutched his fists at his side. Full of shame and remorse, he would never forgive himself. No child should have to watch their father shamefully hanged by the noose. The image he imaged would haunt her forever, no matter how mad she was at him.

Until the king’s guards stepped in, he accepted his fate at the end of the noose. If he was going to die, he would maintain his honor and integrity until his very last breath. But as the guards approached, one man stood out from the crowd, Laird Thomas Chisholm; disguised as one of the King’s guards. No one recognized him, other than Magnus.

He stood with a crooked smile staring at Magnus. Silently, he nodded and Magnus knew that his saving grace had arrived and death would not greet him this day.

Thomas and another guard grabbed onto Magnus’s arms and led him out the back door of the courtroom, but instead of heading towards the gallows, they turned down a dark corridor that led down to a small open shaft outside of the castle.

Magnus peered down the open hole and glanced at the murky waters of the moat that circled the castle.

“Jump,” he heard one of the men behind him whisper.

Magnus did as he was instructed and leaped into the waters below. With the impact of his weight and size the water made a loud splash but was muffled beneath the loud chants of onlookers near the gallows. The other two men jumped in the water behind them and the three men swam down the small channel until they were a safe enough distance away out of view from the castle guards who stood post atop the castle walls.

“Trust is becoming something of a rarity these days, would ye no agree?” Thomas asked. “I have put trust in many men and do ye know what I have learned?”

“What is that?” Magnus impatiently asked.

Thomas stepped closer. Letting out a breath, he stood quietly and stared at the ground.

“That if ye want something done,” he said as he took his dagger and forcefully thrust it deep in Magnus’s side. “Ye have to do it yerself.”

Thomas’s twisting the knife back out hurt worse than the initial impact. Magnus’s hand flew to Thomas’s shoulder as he felt faint from the pain and loss of blood as it pooled down his leg. Digging his fingers hard into Thomas’s shoulder, he let out a breath and violently tumbled to the ground. With his eyes barely open, he watched as Thomas stepped back and wiped off his blade with his sleeve.

Thomas looked at him with no emotion. Wiping his brow, he bent down and gently placed his hand on Magnus’s back. Magnus grunted at the contact though his body was too weak to move. He was dying.