Page 3 of At the Highlander's Mercy
‘Someone is behind this effort to make the MacLeries
our enemies. Though not friends or enemies of the MacKenzies, they avoid each other’s areas of concern and properties. So this intentional goading is not something either one wants and not something we can afford to get in the middle of now.’ He paused and checked to see who was near them. Seeing no one, he said, ‘I suspect that my cousin Symon is the one, but without proof, I cannot accuse.’
Dougal studied him and then nodded. ‘I will see what I can do.’
Rob smacked his shoulder. ‘I will be in your debt.’
Dougal strode off, leaving Rob behind to deal with the other matters that faced a clan chief and laird every day. Complaints from villagers. Requests from the clan. Demands from the elders that he marry his betrothed—Symon’s sister—as his bride sooner to unite the two fighting factions. And on and on each day.
When he had been fostered by Connor, he’d never dreamt of being in this position—chief of his family and in charge of their holdings. The laird, his natural father, was hardy and young enough to produce a male heir in addition to the lasses he’d had with several wives. With his new wife heavily pregnant, the expectation was that a son would be born. A direct, legitimate heir.
As son of the laird’s older sister, Symon should have had no expectations other than being counsellor to the next laird, or to serve him in some capacity. As the laird’s bastard, Rob’s expectations were lower still. Now, his father and his wife were dead in an accident and Rob, illegitimate or not, had been chosen to lead the clan.
And his cousin Symon, legitimate or not, was not.
As Rob watched Dougal make his way out of the hall, he knew Dougal would find out the truth. In the meantime, Rob needed to gather those loyal to him and be ready to head off this foolish attempt—both to usurp his position, a position he’d discovered he truly did want, and to throw the existing treaties with the MacLeries and the MacKenzies into disarray.
He prayed only that there was time before the disaster he could feel in his bones arrived on his doorstep.
Chapter Two
Lilidh turned to the right, trying to decide if she truly was seeing someone moving along their path in the shadows or if it was a trick of the light and the leaves. She peered into the darkness of the forest and watched more carefully for a few moments. Not certain, she rode on, never mentioning it to either of her companions or their guards. Then, just as they followed the turn
in the road that would take them south to Lairig Dubh, the attack came.
One moment they were riding quietly along and in the next, the men descended from the hills around them and, though Lilidh was a good rider, she found herself unhorsed and standing encircled by five armed warriors. She gazed at them as she drew her dagger. She would fight them if only her leg would remain strong.
And she did, turning the handle of her blade in her palm for a better grip and swiping it around her to keep them from getting too close too quickly. Glancing around to see how the others fared, Lilidh realised only she remained standing while the rest lay scatteredaround the area either dead or unconscious. She took a deep breath and tried to run, but someone grabbed her from behind and dragged her up against their large, muscular body. Like being thrown against a rock wall, it forced the air from her body. A beefy hand entangled in her loosened hair and her head was dragged back. With her neck exposed so, she knew it was only a matter of moments before she died. Offering up a silent prayer asking for forgiveness of her sins, she waited for the death-blow to strike.
‘Who is she?’ a gruff voice demanded from beside her. The one holding her turned their bodies as one until she could see her maid across the clearing. Or at least her lifeless body as one of the other men touched her with his foot.
Isla made no sound and did not move. Lilidh drew in a ragged breath at the possibility that the older woman who had helped raise her was dead. Her eyes burned with tears, but then her anger rose at such a thought. The woman was there to see to her comfort and now lay dead because... Because of what? Of whom? The daughter of the Beast of the Highlands felt his pride rise in her blood.
‘Who are you to attack those travelling under the MacLerie banner?’ she asked, struggling to pull free. ‘What do you want?’
One of the men broke away from the others and strode towards her. The expression in his dark gaze made her take a step back, but the taller man behind her was like a wall that kept her in place. ‘You are the MacLerie’s girl.’
It wasn’t a question so Lilidh did not answer. Her chin lifted. Her pride would not allow her to slink away or hide her heritage. Still, she would know who dared to attack them.
‘And who are you? Why do you need to kill an innocent woman?’ she said, refusing to cry out as the man holding her prisoner wrenched her head back with a rough tug.
The dark-eyed man nodded to the one holding her and the other one nearer to Isla. She opened her mouth to demand her freedom when the blow hit her from behind and her world went black.
* * *
Each of the next several days went from bad to something that resembled his idea of hell. Rob managed to calm one faction of his family only to have another rise up in complaint. He wondered many times through those last days how Connor MacLerie made it look so easy. Peering over the rim of his goblet as yet another storm brewed in his hall, Rob realised that the one thing that Connor had to help him was his terrible reputation, one not completely undeserved, as the murderous Beast of the Highlands. As he glanced from one squawking Matheson to another, he considered murdering them all and gaining himself a similar reputation.
Symon had been quieter than usual, but that only worried Rob more. At least when he was making noise or complaining, he knew what Symon was up to. His cousin had been absent from the keep and village without word. A worrying thing, that.
He was about to summon Dougal when the doors tothe hall were thrown open and a large group of warriors, under Symon’s control and with him in the lead, came crashing in, yelling and calling out to each other as though celebrating some great victory. Rob nodded to the man he’d appointed as his commander and by the time his cousin and the others reached the front of the hall, additional soldiers had entered and taken positions around the chamber. If Symon noticed, he did not say, but his swagger and manners spoke of trouble walking towards him.
‘Rob,’ Dougal said as he approached from the other side. He took his place behind his laird as Symon reached the dais. ‘He is up to nothing good.’ Rob only nodded, never taking his gaze off the seething group of men, and waited. The attack was not long in coming.
‘You have dragged your heels long enough,Laird,’ Symon began, using his title as a curse. ‘The Mathesons will not serve a leader who will not lead them.’
Shouts both for and against him rippled through the men gathered there and they gained the attention of anyone who might have otherwise passed on through, carrying out their duties. Soon an even larger audience listened to Symon’s threats to his position as chief. Symon waited and then waved them quiet.
‘It matters not now, for I have done what you could not and would not do.’
