Page 50 of Only a Highlander Will Do

She slid from her horse to stand before him. “You told me you were worried about surviving this battle based on what you saw in your dream.” She stared him in the eyes. “I am coming to make certain that does not happen.”

He held her gaze though he had a hard time maintaining it as all he wanted to do was glance upon her shapely legs. “War is no place for a woman.”

She crossed her arms. “That is what your ancestor, Leona MacLeod, was told as well. Yet she defied everyone, and with the help of the fairies who fashioned these garments, she was at the laird’s side through many a battle and remained unharmed.”

“Fiona, this is no time for fairy tales.”

She uncrossed her arms and in a split second bent down and grasped the sgian-dubh from his boot. She brought it to her chest and stabbed herself right above her heart.

Tormod gasped and lunged for the blade. Their hands came together. He had expected to feel the stickiness of her blood on his fingers. There was none. In fact, as he pulled his hand back along with hers and the blade, he could see that the leather had not been pierced. “Impossible.”

“Fairy magic is strong with your family. It will protect me, and it will protect all of you as you go to retrieve Rowena.”

He swallowed roughly. “I could not bear it if something happened to you.”

She returned his sgian-dubh to him. “Nor I you.”

Tormod knew he was losing this argument and turned to his brothers for help.

Except they simply shrugged and Alastair said, “She is right about fairy magic and the strong women this family generates.”

Tormod looked to Graeme. Surely he would have objections to Fiona’s presence after what had happened when they’d taken Rowena with them only a few days prior. Graeme arched a brow as he sized her up and down. “Leona’s garments fit you very well. It is almost as if they were made for you.”

At that, Fiona’s smile grew. “I will be no trouble. I promise,” she said as she headed back to Seaspirit and without a mounting block or assistance, settled herself in the saddle once more.

Knowing he had been overruled, Tormod moved to his own horse and threw himself up onto Midnight’s back. “Then let us be off.” To Fiona he said, “Stay beside me. Do not leave my side for one moment. Understand?”

She nodded as they started off over the drawbridge together. Behind them, Graeme and Alastair rallied the warriors until the MacLeods, the MacKinnons, and the Nicolsons all began the ride to Monkstadt.

The silence of the predawn stayed with them as they covered the open territory before them. Only when they passed the crumbling ruin that was now Ulster Castle did Tormod feel he had to say something. “I’m sorry for what the MacDonalds did to your home. I never had the chance to say that before now. I know how very fond of the place you were.”

“Losing one’s home is a heavy burden to bear,” Fiona replied. “If you have nothing else.” She brought her gaze to his. “I was so empty inside for so long. I forgot what anything else felt like—what it felt like to be happy, to feel like part of something bigger than myself, to be cared about.”

“You are cared about, Fiona. More than you know.” The words flowed off his tongue and he felt relaxed with her at his side, which was highly unusual as he headed off to war. She was the reason why. There were so many words he needed to say to her, yet now was not the time. “When we return home, there are important matters we must discuss.”

“I’m pleased to hear you talking about returning home,” she said, her voice soft.

He exhaled as he allowed his gaze to wander over the shapely leg closest to him. “Of all the decisions I’ve made over the last five years, coming back to Dunvegan was the best decision, by far. And this time I will return alive and well as I did the last time.”

Their gazes met across the space between their horses, and silence descended once more as they followed the coastline to the north. The sky above had started to lighten to an eerie grey that felt almost as if they were somehow suspended between day and night. The mists were reluctant to leave the coves and the inlets near the shore as the men—some on horseback, others on foot—followed the MacLeods’ lead.

They reached the inlet below Monkstadt just as the first streaks of pink tinged the morning sky. “We’ll stop here,” Tormod called back to Alastair as he reined in his horse. “We are out of sight of Monkstadt. Even noise will not be an issue at this distance. We want the men and the horses rested and well fed before we attack.”

The men set up camp at the edge of the inlet. It wasn’t long before they gathered in groups, eating the meat pies Mrs Honey and Mrs Bagley had sent with them. Tormod stood among his men, staring at the sky. The moon was fading from view as the sun pushed its way up from the eastern horizon. The beauty of a new day dawning did little to alleviate the growing tension that stirred within his chest since they’d stopped.

“You look as far away from here as the sun,” Fiona said, coming to stand beside him.

“I feel far away.” His attention shifted to her and he felt a sudden calm slide over him.

“Are you worried about what is to come?”

He shook his head. “Just thinking about how we’ll force our way inside.” His brows came down in thought. “Marcus made it inside Monkstadt undetected through the cellar. But I’m certain they have reinforced that entrance by now. With our numbers, perhaps it is best to pursue a direct approach.”

Alastair came to stand beside Tormod. “I’ve been giving that some thought as well.” A sudden hush went out over the camp as every ear turned to their conversation.

“Gather round, men,” Tormod called out. If they were to put their lives on the line soon, they deserved some say in their plan of attack.

They abandoned their own positions to huddle around where Tormod and Alastair stood. Momentarily his breath quickened as he thought back to the last battle he and Orrick had fought together in the West Indies. Many of those they fought beside did not make it through the battle.