Page 36 of Highland Ruse

A woman. Not a man, or an armed warrior who could have defended himself—an unarmed woman from the village.

“When they came, it was not entirely unexpected,” Kaid continued. “We’d had several MacKenzies come from time to time and lay minor attacks on the castle. Laird MacKenzie must have sent every one of his men that day. But the attack did not come to the castle. It was on the village.”

The MacKenzies streamed from the surrounding woods in a tidal wave of men, their roars deafening, even from where Kaid stood. He didn’t hesitate, nor did the men around him. Blood charged through his veins, his confidence overflowing with the surety of power and training.

Together, they ran from the castle, trusting several remaining warriors to stand guard while they lashed against the enemy to offer protection.

“They were simple villagers. Unarmed.” His words came out strained and hoarse.

Kaid paused and took a deep drink from the flask of ale at his side and wished it were whisky or wine, preferably valerian—anything to dull the memories. The very ones he would need to let wash over him and, for once, not fight.

He did not look at the women or Donnan and instead kept his focus on the loch. He could not bear to see the emotions etched on their faces as his were so indelibly etched on his heart.

Chaos.

The world was in chaos.

Fire licked at thatch roofs and spiraled acrid smoke, choking the men’s throats and stinging their eyes. All around them were armed men and the cries of their defenseless victims.

Kaid tore through them with all the speed he could muster. His forearm went numb with the repetitive clang of his weapon against others. Mud and gore splashed his face and clothing. Still he did not stop.

Still it was not enough.

“We tried to fight as hard as we could, but there were too many men attacking.” Defeat pulled at Kaid’s heart as it had that fateful morning. “The village was too twisted with alleys and homes for the villagers to hide.”

He took another swallow of the ale, but it did little to ease the rawness, as if he were experiencing the smoke of the fires again, the harshness of his war cry rasping through his throat once more. “My da saw us losing the fight and came out to help the villagers. He fought valiantly, but his men were cut down, and he too fell. The MacKenzies took his body, and they took his blade.”

The great and powerful Laird MacLeod was carelessly dragged through the mud like a carcass whose meat had gone bad. His face was slack, and his jaw hung open. Blue eyes bulged, but stared at nothing while bits of mud flew at his face and speckled his teeth.

Kaid glanced but for a brief moment at the high offense before returning his attention to the fight once more. He would mourn his father later. He would get his father’s sword back later.

Now was for his people, for he was the new laird.

“I tried to fight as many as I could.” Kaid let the memories sweep over him. “But there were too many. And then I saw a cluster of children, banded together inside a ring of women who fought with whatever tools they could grab.” It had all been so insufficient—shears, a dirk, a large hook, whatever their men had not taken to defend themselves. “The MacKenzies found them…”

He let his voice trail off and could not put to words what he witnessed. Certainly no lady should ever hear the horrors he’d had to see.

The children’s cries came clear and high over the death grunts and screams. Kaid pulled his blade free from the man he’d just slain and tried to run toward them, only to be thwarted by another MacKenzie warrior.

The women around their bairns lashed out, mothers willing to die for their children, but they were no match for the axes, broadswords, and arrows.

Three fell before he was free. Their defeat rang out in the keening cries of their children. Kaid’s muscles burned with the determination, but he moved too slowly.

An ache blossomed at his temple and everything blurred to a narrow white dot.

Kaid settled his palm over his head, as if he could still feel the thin trickle of blood. “I was struck on the head before I could get to them. When I awoke…”

He focused on the surrounding forest, the rustle of trees against one another in the moonlight, the gray clouds in a dark sky, the twinkle of stars scattering the sky above. Anything other than what wanted to rise to the forefront of his memory.

He could not let himself see that again.

Not ever.

“My people want vengeance,” he said in a resigned voice. “But I know it will only bring more bloodshed.”

Finally he let his gaze shift to Elizabeth, who watched him with a puckered brow and an intent stare. “I took ye to hopefully negotiate with MacKenzie, to get my da’s sword back, and to encourage peace between our people.”

Donnan covered Leasa’s hand with his own, and their fingers intertwined.