Page 8 of A Fearless Rebel

The old woman slapped at the maid. “Get away from me. I have not finished my meal.”

“Yes, ye have, Mother,” her father said. “They are bringing ye honeyed mead to yer chamber.”

Her grandmother lit up. “Then I must go at once.” The woman had to have help standing and then to walk out at an excruciatingly slow pace.

The family continued eating in silence for a long time. Finally, her mother brought the subject up again. “What did the message state?”

“They listed ridiculous stipulations,” her father said, waving his hand dismissively, “but agreed in the end to the marriage.”

Ava’s heart sank. “What stipulations?”

“That ye go live there at Fraser Keep, which was my idea, of course. Secondly, that I grant them some border lands as yer dowry.” Her father chuckled. “That land is not worth anything, but I suppose it can be hunted on.”

“What do we have to gain from it?” her mother asked. “It seems to me they are the ones who hold the upper hand.”

“A spy,” her father said. “We gain someone inside that will give me all the information I need to not only take over their clan, but also find out who their allies are.”

Ava didn’t have to ask who the spy was. Her father would expect her to report to him regularly. No doubt, someone would be sent along with her who would take messages back and forth.

When her mother’s lips curved, Ava wanted to get sick.

“I wonder if there are families that celebrate marriage for the sake of it. A celebration of love and caring.” Everyone either glared or shook their heads as if she were daft.

Chapter Three

From atop the wall that surrounded the keep, Keithen scanned the surrounding lands. To the left, there were familiar wooded forests as far as the eye could see. When he looked straight ahead, there was a valley with a road leading to a large village. The air smelled of peat and moistness from the early morning drizzle. The haze was finally lifting aided by a light breeze.

Autumn brought with it cooler weather and rain. Although at the moment, it was quite pleasant.

A cart appeared on the road, heading toward the keep. It was probably one of the villagers bringing sundries for the kitchen. Keithen watched for a long moment before turning and walking to the northern corner of the wall. That area below was almost unreachable on foot, unless one was familiar with the hidden paths that only those who lived at the keep had memorized.

He grunted in annoyance at recalling that someone had shared information about those paths. It was the only explanation because when they’d sent his mother and Catriona to safety during the Mackenzie attack along the hidden paths, they’d been discovered.

Two mistakes had been made that day. The first was sending young guards to escort them and the second was not knowing they’d been betrayed by their own village constable. The man was dead now, killed by a Mackenzie guard. That had been anticlimactic, as Keithen had wished to be the one to deal the death blow.

“Horseman,” Broden called down from atop the roof. The man pointed to the edge of the forest.

“Probably the messenger with Mackenzie’s reply,” Keithen called back. By now, several archers had lined up and guards rushed atop the gates, everyone with a watchful eye in case others followed the man. As per their training, at the same time, guards and archers were alerted on the southern, eastern and western sides to be alert in case the rider was a distraction of some sort.

The man arrived at the gates and spoke to the warriors who stopped him. They allowed him in.

Keithen rushed to a narrow staircase and hurried down so he could be the first to greet the messenger.

“Whose message do ye bring?”

The messenger was young, but broad of shoulder and with a proud stance. He sized Keithen up. “Who are ye?”

“I am the laird’s son.” Keithen purposely didn’t give his name. “Identify yerself.”

“As I told the guards, I come from the Mackenzie with a message for Laird Fraser,” the man replied with a flat tone, his distaste evident in the curl of his upper lip. “Will ye take me to yer father?”

If the circumstances had been different, Keithen would punch the man in the face. He wondered if perhaps the man been there when Catriona was attacked.

The Mackenzies considered themselves better than everyone else when, in actuality, in Keithen’s opinion, they were nothing more than pack dogs who attacked the vulnerable and weak.

Keithen turned on his heel and walked to the front of the house. Once there, he held out a hand. “Wait here.”

He wasn’t about to allow the idiot in unless he was sure Catriona was nowhere in sight. His fears were realized when she was, indeed, sitting at a table with her mother, Lady Fraser and the caregiver, Flora.