Page 47 of Only a Highlander Will Do

Is that what you want? You seem to have a connection to these other-worldly creatures that I haven’t seen in a long while. Even amongst the blood-born MacLeods.

“I’m not certain I want to stop any movement between the fairy and human world until the battle Tormod and his brothers are about to embark on is over.” After a pause Fiona continued. “I must confess, I asked the fairies and the selkies to help turn the battle in the MacLeods’ favour. If they need the portal to do that, then I am all for them using it.”

The Grey Lady studied Fiona. Why are you so fearful that you would ask other-worldly beings for help?

“It’s something Tormod said. He told me about a dream he had where he died. I will do anything to see that doesn’t happen.”

Anything?

“Aye.” Fiona uncrossed her arms and moved to stand beside the Grey Lady. “Why do you ask?”

Would you follow him into battle?

Fiona’s brows knit. “I do not know how to fight.”

Fighting is not always what is necessary in a battle, my dear. Come. I have an idea. The Grey Lady floated back towards the castle.

Fiona picked up her skirts and walked up the remainder of the hill to reach the approach to the gate. She breathed a sigh of relief to find the barrier still open and started over the drawbridge with Tormod’s mother.

In order not to frighten the horses I must leave you now. As soon as you are able, meet me in the great hall of the old keep. There is something there I must show you. Before Fiona could reply, the mist surrounding the ghost lessened, then vanished in a burst of white light that rose towards the greying night sky.

Men in tartans were still arriving at Dunvegan. Fiona was pleased that so many others would join the MacLeods as they took a stand against the MacDonalds.

Would it end the fighting between the two clans forever? Fiona could only hold out hope for such an outcome as she slipped back inside the castle and made her way to the great hall in the oldest section. Whatever the Grey Lady had planned, Fiona hoped Tormod would approve, because despite all her efforts tonight, she still could not shake the unwelcome sense that something terrible was about to happen.

Chapter Eighteen

Rowena could no longer tell how many hours she’d been held hostage by the MacDonalds. The dungeon they’d put her in was so dark that, even as her eyes had adjusted to the lack of light, she could still see no more than a hand’s length in front of her as she sat on the cold stone floor.

It was probably best that she could not see, because her senses told her what her vision did not. She was not alone in the cold, dark space. There were mice and vermin, along with at least one other prisoner, though they had yet to speak. And, judging by the smell of rotting flesh, the remains of countless others were perhaps tucked into the corner she did not occupy.

It was no wonder her mother had perished when their father had thrown her into their dungeon so many years ago. Rowena shivered against the cold. She had flipped the back of her dress up and over her head, while she’d tucked the front around her lower body in an effort to stay warm. It had worked for a time, but now the dankness of the cell seemed to seep into her bones, regardless of the cloth barrier she’d erected against it.

However, her situation was preferable to what she had imagined upon their arrival at Monkstadt House. She’d expected Alex MacDonald to violate her in the most brutal of ways, but his father had intervened as he’d dragged her kicking and fighting from the courtyard into the manor house.

“There will be time for that later,” the laird had admonished, pulling her from his son’s grasp and sending her into the arms of four waiting guards. “The MacLeods are gathering allied clans. We must do the same.”

That was all she’d heard as the guards had taken her to the dungeon and thrown her inside. Before the door had shut, pitching her into darkness, she’d seen what appeared to be a safe corner in which to position herself. She’d been hunkered down there ever since, trying to convince herself she was not afraid.

If her brothers were calling upon other allied clans, then they were preparing to come rescue her. All she had to do was wait.

Rowena flinched as something slithered over her feet. She pulled her limbs more tightly against her body. Over the frantic skittering of her heart, she heard what sounded like footsteps outside the door. A moment later, a loud scraping sounded as the iron bolt slid back and the door creaked open.

A splash of yellow-gold candlelight assaulted her, and she shielded her eyes against the brightness until her pupils adjusted to the light. She saw a woman, holding a tray with a candlestick upon it. She came forward and set the tray on the floor beside Rowena. Next she offered Rowena a blanket she had draped over her arm. “Please eat something. It will help you keep up your strength.”

The woman’s voice was friendly, and her eyes held no malice as she stared at Rowena as though sizing her up. The woman was of medium height. In her fifties. Her hair was dark and streaked with grey. Rowena frowned. There was something familiar about this woman. Had they somehow met before? “Why should I trust you? The food might be poisoned.”

Instead of being offended by the comment, the woman smiled and leaned closer. “Now why would I poison the woman my son wishes to marry?”

Rowena startled. “You’re Marcus’s mother?”

“And you are every bit as fiery as my son described.”

Hope blossomed inside Rowena. “Are you here to set me free?”

The woman’s smile vanished as she shook her head. “There are four guards outside the door. We would both be killed the moment we stepped out. I am limited to bringing you food, water, a bit of warmth, and a message.” She leaned in closer still. “The MacLeods are coming for you. Your brothers will be here soon, and when they are, that is when my husband and I can help.”

“The MacLeods are coming?” A voice came out of the shadows on the other side of the chamber. Shuffling sounded, then a figure appeared. In the circle of the candlelight, Rowena could identify a grey-haired man. He was covered in dust. His clothing was shredded and stained with blood. He limped closer. “Those bastard MacLeod triplets cost me everything—my home, my daughter, and very soon my life.” At the exertion, the older man doubled over coughing, the sound rattling in his chest.