Kate Robbins - The Highland Chiefs Series 03 (11 page)

Chapter Eleven

Somewhere on the North Sea

Sea spray hit his face like a blow from a man’s fist. Ronan’s head jerked back and he stumbled, holding fast to the ropes tied to the sails. A strong nor’wester had picked up an hour before and threatened to run them off course if they did not get the sails tied down.

He had been to sea with his father a few times in his youth and had been fascinated by the mechanics of a ship’s crew, learning a small bit by observation and practice.

He walked toward the mast, wrapping the ropes around his arms tighter as he approached. Once there, he waited until another seaman tied the loose ends below him and then he slipped his arms free. His hair was matted to his face and his clothes were soaked from heavy rain and violent seas.

At least he was not sick. The reason he was above deck in the gale was because of the number of heaving bellies below. The MacKenzie had assured him his men were sea worthy. Now, he was not so sure.

“’Tis all secure now!”

Ronan turned his head, barely able to hear the man shouting from not six feet away. He nodded and stepped away from the mast only to slide toward the side of the deck as the ship rocked to port and scooped up a crashing wave.

He wrapped his arms around the railing and held on for dear life as the wave pushed his body and then pulled it again, begging him to join it forever in the sea’s depths.

Christ’s teeth, this was surely Hell! Those who chose to live their lives on the sea deserved a special place in Heaven for their courage. He smiled. Fergus MacKay, the bravest man he knew, had quickly opted to lead the army by land when they had divvied up the tasks. Perhaps there was some fear in the deep recesses of that man’s soul after all.

Carefully, he made his way below deck to his quarters. The captain had been kind enough to ensure a cabin be fitted for him and the MacKenzie and Rorie. Once inside, he squeezed the sea water from his hair and reached for the pitcher of mead one of the crew had left him. It was secured in a wooden cup fastened to the table preventing it from spilling unless the ship turned to an unimaginable degree. The amber liquid warmed a path to his belly and helped him regain his courage.

Alone in the cabin, he planted his legs apart and let his body sway with the rocking ship. Boards groaned and creaked under the sea’s pressure. Ronan wondered if his body did not protest in the same way.

As a boy, he had viewed the sea as a great living thing with its own soul that only allowed passage to those who respected it. Once that respect was taken for granted, the sea rebelled and claimed lives.

Would now be one of those times? Their intent was to destroy a man and his army. There was nothing noble in that, unless one considered the lives that could be saved in the process.

The ship pitched hard to starboard as the door flew open. The MacKenzie and Rorie tumbled inside. The latter clicked the latch in place.

“I see you’ve been out there too,” MacKenzie said.

“Aye, the sails needed securing and too many men were down here below deck, heaving.” Ronan raised his eyebrow and awaited explanation.

“A sorry lot, those men.” He took a seat at the table and poured mead into a goblet. He drew a long draught and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then slammed the goblet down on the table. “We lose time with this storm!”

“That we do, MacKenzie. But it will be worth it, I assure you. There is no way Sutherland will expect that half the army sails this way, while the rest cross the moors on foot. When he sees Fergus’s war party, he will think he can win by easy numbers. That is when we surround him.”

In theory, the plan was brilliant. The biggest challenge was getting messages to and from the men on land to the men at sea with his uncle between them. Ronan prayed the lad Fergus suggested, who Ronan had just seen heaving his guts into a barrel, really was the fastest rider in the Highlands. Andrew something or other.

“Aye, well you just remember your end of the bargain when all this is over and Sutherland’s head is on a pike. You will remember your promise of the dowry and your sister’s hand in marriage when you are Earl of Sutherland once more, aye?”

“I have given my word, MacKenzie. I intend to keep it.” He glanced at Rorie, whose mouth was drawn into a frown. “What is it lad? Do you think my sister is not good enough for you?”

Rorie’s head snapped up and anger flashed in his eyes. “You do not need to worry about my part in this, Sutherland. I appear to be the one with the least say in any of it.”

For a moment, Ronan pitied the lad. He had been promised a betrothal to Freya for nigh on two years only to have it ripped away from him. Then his father is the one asked to agree to an alternate arrangement on his behalf. Ronan was more than familiar with having no control. He respected the lad for doing his duty.

“I assure you of this, Rorie MacKenzie. I would not offer my sister unless I was certain of the kind of man who could care for her. She is not feisty like Freya, nor half warrior like Nessia. Muren has a delicate nature and if I thought for one moment you would mistreat her, I would never have offered her in the first place.”

Rorie’s gaze locked with Ronan’s. His brows drew in and he frowned. Was he now only realizing the differences between the women? Ronan watched him for signs of aggression of any sort. If he showed the slightest anger, the deal was off and he had find another way to claim Freya. He would not sacrifice his sister to come to harm as ‘twas only for the good he had viewed in Rorie that the idea had come to him in the first place.

“I am well aware of her nature, Sutherland,” Rorie said.

“You have spoken to her?” MacKenzie asked.

“Aye, briefly. A man would have to be daft not to know she has a gentle nature.”

Rorie’s countenance softened, and Ronan wondered if he were not attracted to his sister after all.

“And a lovely face too,” MacKenzie said.

Ronan turned to the older man whose eyes had crinkled around the edges. Well, it appeared his sister had made an impression on both men. The tightness in his belly loosened. As much as he wanted Freya, he needed to be sure his sister was in good hands. The reaction before him was reassuring.

* * *

The ruckus in the great hall was deafening. Freya listened from the secret guard chamber. Her belly had tightened into a fierce knot, and she placed her hand over her mouth an hour ago so she would not make a sound to give away her presence.

Her brother was angrier than she had ever seen him. She could scarce believe how things had turned sour so fast. No. She would not believe Ronan would set them up like this.

“I have you surrounded, MacKay,” Alexander Sutherland said. “You will pledge fealty to me or I will lay your village to waste and personally bed every female in this house including your wife—that is, after I dice you to bits and serve you to your hounds.”

Freya’s belly heaved. There was no stopping its contents from spewing onto the floor. She retched until there was nothing left but the sound of Fergus’s battle cry and then silence. Was he dead? How could Ronan really have set them up? Was it true?

“Well, well,” a deep menacing voice said from behind her. “A hideaway and a lass to warm my men.”

Freya slowly turned and nearly retched again when she came face to face with the Devil himself. Her breath caught in her throat as he grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the door and into the great hall. She whimpered when Fergus’s lifeless body came into view, blood pooling from his mid-section.

Her captor shoved her forward. “Now, lass. I wonder if your name might be Freya. It appears my nephew insisted you not be harmed and that you are to be returned with us to Dunrobin.”

He waved his hand around the chamber and looked at his men. “Burn it all,” he said and grabbed her by the waist flinging her over his shoulder when she screamed for Fergus to wake up. She screamed and screamed until her throat burned and nothing but death and destruction lay behind her.

Crossing Tongue Village on a horse with her hands tied before her, smoke from the many fires burned her eyes and lungs, and a heaviness fell over her. The Devil said that Ronan did this; that he had arranged it so that their defences would be down when Alexander attacked. She thought back to when he had returned from rescuing Morag and Muren. He had said it was too easy and she guessed now it was. Had he played them for fools? Her heart told her no, but her head told her aye.

She choked on a sob as she thought of the love they had rekindled—now sullied by the lives lost this day. Her captor broke into a heavy gallop and the effort squeezed her body until little air could enter her scorched lungs. Stars formed in her eyes and before she could protest, blackness enveloped her.

When she awoke, it was dark and she was lying on the ground, a fire crackling beside her. Freya blinked but could not soothe the stinging sensation in her eyes. Whether from smoke or weeping, she knew not.

She took in her surroundings and assessed several men moving about. They had made camp. What did they intend to do with her? And what of her family? Fergus. Did he live? What about Nessia and the bairns? And Morage and Muren? Gut wrenching sobs threatened to erupt from her and it took everything in her to keep them at bay; the result was a tremor in her body she could not control.

“She is awake, my lord.” The man’s voice beside her was cold.

Footsteps drew closer. She was afraid to open her eyes. Would they slay her right there, lying on the cold ground, or worse? Her body shook harder. She could not control the burn in her belly, nor the cold wash of fear splashing over her. Never before had she felt such terror as she did now.

“Take her to him. Carry her if she cannot walk.” The second man sounded angry.

The first man laughed. “He doesn’t normally take such an interest in them.”

“He certainly seems to want this one. Said he would tear any man limb from limb who touched her.”

Freya’s hair was moved away off her face.

“Aye, she has a pleasing look about her. ’Tis a shame. I would have had a go at her later when she awoke. Perhaps I will take my chances with one of the other two.”

“You know he said to leave them alone too?”

“What he doesn’t know will not hurt him. Unless you decide to tell and then I will drive my blade into your gullet.”

Shuffling sounded around her. She kept her eyes closed and prayed to God someone would help her.

“You there!” A third man said. “You were told to bring the lass to his lordship when she wakes. Does she?”

“Does she what?”

“Wake, you fool! His lordship will stick his sword through you without remorse if you do not smarten up.”

Freya sensed someone closer. She opened her eyes a slit. Two large knees were before her face and then hands scooped underneath her. Her body was lifted into the air by large arms and carried for several minutes before being placed on something softer—and warmer— more comforting than the cold ground from earlier. As she came fully conscious, her tremors returned.

“I know you are awake, lass.” She immediately recognized the voice. “You will come to no harm until you are at Dunrobin and we face your lover together.”

Her lover? What exactly had Ronan told his uncle? Freya’s belly lurched. She was going to be sick again. She opened her eyes and tried focusing on something to help her stop her mind from spinning and the coiling in her belly.

“Come, lass,” the Devil said. “You will dine with me this eve, and tomorrow we shall talk about the future.”

The future? Did he not mean to kill her then? She tried piecing together what she had overheard from the great hall. He had said Ronan told him they would attack as soon as he could draw the MacKenzies away. The MacKays were the only thing lying between Alexander Sutherland possessing the entire Highlands and so they must be destroyed. He said the whole plot was Ronan’s idea.

Freya’s head pounded. How could that be? Was everything they had ever shared a lie? No, it could not be! They had shared passion and declared their love. Surely that could not be falsified?

She lifted her body up to a sitting position holding her knees with her arms. Freya worked hard to control her shaking limbs but to little avail. A piercing scream of terror and rage sliced through her. Morag? Or Muren?

Freya drew a deep breath and thought about her loved ones back home. What would they have her do? What would Fergus say to her right now if he could speak to her?

The Devil laughed. “You are a spirited one, lass, I’ll give you that.”

His words were enough to remind her just who she was and the family from which she hailed. Her captors may be stronger than her in form, but they would not break her spirit and they could not take her soul. Those were her possessions, and no betrayal from Ronan or physical abuse from these beasts would take that from her.

“You may glare at me all you like, young Freya, but you cannot harm me. I alone hold all the power in the Highlands now. Your brother, the only real threat, was easily duped and even easier to kill, I might add.”

Freya flew at him then. Her body would not be stayed. She grabbed his hair and toppled him to the ground, managing to slam his head once before he grasped her by the arms and flipped her over.