Kate Robbins - The Highland Chiefs Series 03 (21 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Ronan tied thick leather straps around his forearms and secured his broadswords across his back. His men assembled in the same way and he was impressed at how noiseless they were. The sun would rise before long so they would have to approach the castle with stealth.

The plan was to surround the castle and enter all at once. Before long, the five hundred men were ready and had successfully disarmed the guards on patrol.

Ronan motioned for Fergus and MacIntosh to follow him to where he suspected Alexander slept. One by one, as quietly as they could, they took out any guards in their path. Ronan tried not to take notice of whether or not they were men he had previously ruled.

With little resistance, they made it to the master chamber on the third floor of the castle. Ronan hesitated outside. He had the document secured within his tunic and drew a deep breath. Looking once over his shoulder, he lifted the latch and pushed, but the door would not give—bolted from the inside.

He cursed under his breath and looked to his right, shaking his head in Fergus’s direction. The man’s face turned hard and he motioned Ronan out of the way.

A moment later, Fergus kicked the door clear off its hinges and the twelve of them stormed the chamber. The sight that met him was both surprising and pitiful.

Sitting up in bed, his grey haired uncle did not look like the fearsome warrior with his eyes wide and quilts clutched to his chin.

“You are relieved from your position as chief and Earl of Sutherland, by order of the King,” Ronan declared.

Alexander’s expression changed them from shock to fury. He leapt up from the bed and grabbed his sword.

“I know what is rightfully mine,” he said. “If you want what I have, come and claim it, lad. I do not believe for one moment you are man enough. If it takes a dozen men to back you up, do you really think you have what it takes to rule this clan?”

Ronan laughed. “Aye. I have what it takes. Will you come quietly, or does this need to end in bloodshed?”

Alexander did not hesitate. He lunged forward with his sword pointed straight for Ronan’s heart. Though he was a crazed madman, he did not have the benefit of Ronan’s youth and strength. Their swords clashed and Ronan easily overtook him. He kicked the feet out from under the man and placed the tip of his blade at his throat.

“Do you yield?”

“Never!”

Ronan drew a deep breath. He had killed his own father; he had much less hesitation to end this man too.

“So be it,” he said.

He shoved his sword through his uncle’s throat, spilling his lifeblood onto the floor. The crimson pool grew as the life left Alexander Sutherland’s eyes. Moments later, he was dead.

Ronan should have felt something, some remorse for the life he had just taken, but instead he was numb. Only one part of this whole problem was resolved, and it had occurred with surprising ease. He realized he could have done the same thing at any point leading up to now, if that is all the resistance from the man he would have gotten. But then, he would not have learned of the plan.

“We need to find his captain,” MacIntosh said.

“Aye, we do,” Fergus said. “We must handle this quickly so they do not have time to react or attack.”

“It is all too easy,” Ronan said. For all their planning, he still had a terrible feeling he was missing something.

Shouts from the hallway drew their attention.

When they followed the noise they discovered some of the hired men in a scuffle with MacKay warriors. The latter more than had the upper hand.

“What are you called?” Ronan asked the guard.

“Fergusson. And the Earl will not be pleased. Unhand me.”

Ronan cocked his head. “I am the Earl. And I am not pleased. You and your men will stand down or you will all lose your lives this day.”

At that moment he stopped struggling. “What do you mean you are the Earl? Alexander Sutherland is the Earl.”

“Are you captain of these men?” Ronan asked ignoring his question.

“Aye, I am.”

“From whence do you hail?”

“Peebleshire. Where is the Earl?”

Ronan took a step closer to him. “I am the Earl and chief of clan Sutherland. I want your men assembled and off my lands immediately. If you do not comply, you will all be run through.”

“My men will not comply so easily,” he said. “We were to be paid a handsome sum for our support.”

Ronan heaved a sigh of relief and glanced at Fergus and MacIntosh, nodding.

“You will be paid for your services to the former Earl, and you will leave here immediately. Your pervious orders are null and void, and you will go back to Peebleshire and never return to the Highlands. Is that clear?”

The man looked from Ronan to the others with him and back again. “Aye. It is clear.”

“What was the sum?”

“Five thousand marks.”

Christ’s teeth. “You will be paid.”

“Take him to the great hall to await me,” Ronan said to Fergus. Then to his own men, he said, “Fetch Father Sinclair. Alexander must be blessed, then I want him buried immediately—next to my father.”

Ronan did not wait to see if his orders would be carried out. He immediately went to the treasury fearing the worst. There was little chance he would find it full and like he had left it, as Allain would have been aware of the secret chamber on the first floor near the back of the castle.

He drew a deep breath to steady himself once he got there. Ronan grabbed a torch from the sconce on the wall and opened the door. The sight that beheld him, was surprising. Not less, but more bounty lay inside on the table, on the floor. Great chests he had never seen before were stacked just inside the door and on the table lay a parchment with several heavy sacks. He could only assume this was the payment meant for the Fergussons.

Reading the contract, he had to give his uncle credit for his thorough accounting of what his hired henchmen were meant to do, and the limitations of their actions.

Looking around him, a pang of regret washed over him from his lost friendship with Allain. Together they had brought about a great change under difficult circumstances and he would miss his consultation. But he had betrayed Ronan, and would be punished for his insubordination.

Ronan put the heavy sacks of coin on a small cart, grabbed the parchment and left the chamber, securing the entrance and replacing the torch in the sconce outside.

As he approached the great all, he heard Fergus’s booming voice over the rumblings of the gathered Fergusson army.

Upon entering, the men parted for him. He could not have been more relieved. A man paid for a job was much less of a threat than one passionate about the task. He was certain they would take their payment, return to their ships, and go home.

“I have the contract,” he said to their captain. “Here is your payment. By the terms of this parchment which I believe you have signed, the Earl may require you to cease and desist at any point he feels is necessary and your services are no longer required. Do you concur?”

As he spoke, Ronan wheeled the cart toward the man and stopped before him. His eyes widened into great orbs and a grin spread out across his face. The men surrounding him also grinned. One slapped the other on the back and laughed out loud.

“You appear surprised,” Ronan said. He wanted them gone, but their reaction was not as he had expected.

“We are pleased this arrangement has come to a conclusion, my lord,” he said. “As per the terms, we will return home immediately and as you request, you will not see us again.”

“And that is it?”

“Aye,” he said. “That is it. We are happy to see the back end of the Highlands and dealings with your uncle. Our desperation led us down this path, and my men and I will not need to repeat it with your generous payment. Farewell, my lord.” He then turned to his men. “To home!”

They all cheered and with that, he left the great hall with the cart, his men following behind.

Ronan watched them file out, and for the first time since he had left her before dawn, thought of Freya. As soon as the Fergussons were gone, he would personally carry her to their new chamber. Like it or not, she was now his wife and he was not about to let her forget it.

* * *

Freya rolled over to her side and noticed the emptiness beside her. Each time she had awoken in the night with discomfort, Ronan held her closer. Freya took stock of her body. She was no longer feverish, and at some point when it had broken, had soaked through Ronan’s shirt.

She sat up and looked around to see if her own shift or gown had been returned. Lying near her pallet, she spied folded linens and smiled. Morag was a very good nursemaid. How she had gotten her clothes washed and dried so quickly was a mystery, but a welcome one.

Just as she was rising from her bed, the tent flap lifted to reveal Morag and Muren. Their looks of surprise were almost humorous, until Morag tsked.

“Now lass, you’ll not have much strength yet. Just what do you think you are doing up?”

“I am feeling better, Morag. My strength has returned. My clothes are soaked and I thought I would change into the ones you left here.”

“Not until you are washed,” she said. “Muren, get the guards to help bring the hot water.”

“How on earth are you warming water?”

Morag was a miracle worker. The armies were probably killing each other, yet she was warming water to wash Freya.

“All is quiet up at the castle. We have heard nothing since they attacked before dawn.”

“And what is the hour now?”

“’Tis well past the noon meal. I choose to believe the lack of ruckus means they are successful and now negotiating terms to reinstate Ronan as Earl.”

Freya gasped. “Reinstate? What about his uncle?”

“If luck is on their side, his uncle is dead.”

Freya shook her head. Could it be so easy? She doubted it. Nothing that had occurred so far had been easy on either of them. And the reality was that she and Ronan were now married before God and blessed by the bishop. There was no turning back. She was stuck with him and he with her. But how on earth would they ever move forward, past all that had happened?

“Now,” Morag said. “Strip off that shirt and turn around. We do not have a tub to put you in, but we can certainly wash away the sickness you’ve endured these past two days. Oh, what I would not give to be close to a loch to throw you into,” she said with a grin.

“I would likely drown and then you would be without your new daughter,” she said.

Morag’s actions stilled. “You have always been meant for Ronan and he for you. I know you are angry, Freya, but this entire business has put us all in extreme circumstances. You and he must take some time to find one another again.”

“But how?” she asked. “How, after he left me at the hands of his vile uncle, can I possibly trust that I am safe in his hands?”

“Because I know my son,” she said. “He is good in his heart. He endured much under his father’s care and this business with his uncle has no doubt dredged up old insecurities. Ronan has been fighting the evil of his family almost his entire life. I do not excuse what he did, but I do trust him.”

Freya frowned and turned so that Morag could help her out of Ronan’s shirt. She missed the linen cloth on her skin the moment it was taken from her body, as though letting it go was like letting part of him go. What could she do? She had left him once two years ago and it had not quelled her feelings for him, nor his for her. Were they doomed to go up in flames in one another’s arms and then destroy one another?

Morag’s ministrations were heavenly. The gentle brush of cloth and trickle of water down her back was soothing. Freya closed her eyes. The cloth moved away from her body and footsteps shuffling made her open her eyes just as the cloth returned to her back. The pressure was different and gooseflesh broke out across her skin.

Ronan.

How was it her body knew him so well? She tried pushing aside her hurt feelings and just enjoy the way he stroked the length of her back and further down to the swell of her hip. His firm fingers brushed her hair over her shoulder.

The sound of a cloth in the water basin and dripping water added to her heightened anticipation. He aroused her simply by being there behind her, saying nothing but meaning everything in his careful strokes across her body. Freya held her breath as he squeezed the cloth and the water slid down across her now quivering flesh.

Hard, callused fingers slipped around her waist and pulled her back to meet his rock hard body. The cloth landed in a splat on the tent floor and a heartbeat later, his face was buried in her neck, his breathing broken and unsteady.

She wanted to speak, say something in protest but her soul yearned for this, for his nearness and his body joining with hers.

Neither spoke as he slid his hands up and cupped her heavy, straining breasts. She pressed her body into his hands and let her head fall back onto his shoulder exposing her neck to him. Though they had problems aplenty, the truth was, she needed this, needed him to comfort her in the way they knew best. Perhaps this was all they would ever have. For now it would have to do.