Читать книгу Seduced by Her Highland Warrior - Michelle Willingham - Страница 9

‘Bring her to me.’ Lord Harkirk lifted his hand and stared at the Scottish chief who stood before him. Finian MacLachor’s dark hair was cast with grey, his clothing ragged. Blood trickled from his lip, while his gaze was focused upon the door.

Within moments, soldiers brought forth a young girl hardly more than ten years old. She was sobbing as the men gripped her arms.

‘You should guard your women more carefully,’ Harkirk said to the warrior. He enjoyed watching the man’s face transform with a father’s fury.

‘Let her go,’ MacLachor responded, his voice like the point of a sword.

‘Not yet.’ Harkirk folded his arms and gestured for the men to take the girl away.

She screamed, ‘Da, don’t let them take me. Please!’

MacLachor’s face turned murderous, and if he’d had a weapon, no doubt Harkirk would have seen him lunge. He didn’t respond to his daughter’s begging, but his cold grey eyes grew focused. ‘What is it you want?’

Harkirk sat down upon the carved wooden chair, enjoying the man’s discomfort. He accepted a cup of wine from a servant, taking a sip to clear his throat. Though he had more than a few Scottish prisoners held captive within his fortress, it wasn’t enough. He’d suffered humiliation and defeat from the MacKinloch clan. And his ally, the Earl of Cairnross, had been brutally murdered by Bram MacKinloch.

‘I want you to bring me the MacKinloch chief,’ Harkirk answered. ‘And his brothers.’

MacLachor’s face twisted. ‘Because they defeated you?’

Harkirk threw the cup of wine across the room, the silver goblet clattering against the floor. ‘Because you want your daughter to live. And because I’ll give her to my men to enjoy. If you want to see her again, her virtue intact, you’ll bring me their heads.’

Although he had the forces to go after the MacKinlochs again, Harkirk saw no reason to risk the lives of English soldiers or the ire of his king. Edward Plantagenet was not known for mercy; though he wanted the Scots beneath his reign, his first priority was to dim the uprisings in the north-west region.

Harkirk calmed his temper, gathering a patience he didn’t feel. There was a way to accomplish vengeance, using the blood of Scots instead of his own men. Better to unite the clans against the MacKinlochs, letting them take down his enemy. The king wouldn’t care if the Scots murdered each other.

‘We can’t defeat them,’ the MacLachor chief argued. ‘The MacKinlochs are too strong.’

Harkirk crossed the room and grasped the man’s throat while his soldiers held the warrior’s arms back. ‘I watched their fortress burn. Everything they have lies in ashes. Now is the time to strike. And you’ll do it for me, if you want your daughter to live.’

His face twisted in a smile. ‘You can’t protect all of them. A pity your wife is dead. But you have a sister, don’t you?’ He released the man’s throat and ordered, ‘You have until the Feast of Saint Agatha to bring me the first head. Or I’ll take your daughter’s instead.’

Alex brought Laren back to Glen Arrin the following morning. When she departed, the first place she went was towards Father Nolan’s cavern on the far side of the loch. Frustration seeped through his mind and heart. Last night, he’d hoped to convince her to try harder, to be strong and stand at his side instead of abandoning him. But he’d begun to realise that Laren wasn’t going to change.

When it had just been the two of them and young Mairin, Laren had been a different woman. She’d devoted her time to their baby, spending her free hours weaving. She’d always had an eye for colour, and he’d marvelled at the vivid tapestries she’d woven.

But, most of all, he remembered the way she would stop whatever she was working on and fly into his arms, greeting him with a warm kiss. He’d thrived upon her affection, looking forward to it at the end of each day.

Now, she rarely offered a kiss in greeting or in farewell. He missed that.

He watched Laren disappear along the shores of the loch, her red hair streaming out behind her from beneath the mantle she wore. And with every step she took away from him, it hurt a little more.

Alex took a breath and turned back to the task of setting down the new foundation. He’d widened the space, making it larger than it was before. The structure of the keep was now the size of a Norman castle, one sizeable enough to keep several families together.

Bram was the first to notice what he’d done. ‘This won’t work, Brother. It’ll take three times as long to build it from wood.’

‘Not wood. Stone.’ Alex stood up and pointed to the hills. ‘We’ll need to bring wagons up to the quarry, but this has to last longer. And the danger of fire is less.’

‘We don’t have the men to build something that large,’ Bram argued. ‘Has your mind gone soft?’

‘It’s what our father wanted,’ Alex reminded him. When they’d been growing up, he well remembered sitting at Tavin’s knee, hearing the promises his father had made. One day, the MacKinlochs would be strong enough to have a castle of their own. As a young boy, he’d looked up to his father, wanting so badly to make him proud.

And though Alex knew he wasn’t the chief Tavin had wanted, he could give him this legacy.

‘We’ll build it in stages, starting with an outer wall.’ Alex nodded toward the horizon. ‘Lord Harkirk is going to attack again, so we’ll need that defence.’

‘We’d need twelve walls to hold him off,’ Bram argued. From the doubt upon his brother’s face, Alex knew he had a lot of convincing to do.

When they passed the stables, he saw that Dougal had built a makeshift shelter for the horses with Callum’s help. The two men walked forwards to join them and Alex complimented him. ‘The shelter looks good.’

Dougal acknowledged the compliment with a half-smile, but it faded. ‘I thought you should know … Brodie is going east, to Perth. He’s planning to live with his wife’s family at the Murrays.’

‘We need every man to stay, if we want to rebuild Glen Arrin,’ Alex insisted.

Bram could only shrug. ‘You’ll have to talk to them.’

Alex didn’t answer. He knew he had to bring them together, but would words accomplish anything? Too many had lost so much.

‘Tell the others I want to talk with them tonight, then gather a group of men to go to the quarry,’ he told Bram. To Dougal and Callum, he instructed, ‘Prepare the horses and wagons.’ It was going to take the better part of a year to finish a castle, but, if they worked hard over the next few weeks, they could get the foundation and outer wall completed.

Callum drew closer and rested his hand upon Alex’s shoulder. Though his younger brother didn’t speak, he exerted a slight pressure, as a gesture of support.

‘We’ll manage,’ Alex told him. ‘Somehow.’

As his brothers departed, Alex surveyed the damage. Only five huts had survived the fires, and they’d lost fourteen men and boys in the fight—nearly a third of their clan. The grief and frustration threatened to close over him, but he shut out the emotions.

Though he wasn’t meant to be chief, he’d sworn a vow to himself that he would prove his father wrong. He’d promised to give every thing he could to Glen Arrin, placing the people’s needs before his own.

And yet it had all fallen apart.

They couldn’t live this way, not with their pride splintered, their homes in ashes. Somehow, he had to gather the people back together. If they could help each other, they’d overcome their losses. But, most of all, they needed to rebuild their pride.

A hardness clenched his throat and his gaze shifted toward the loch and the site upon the hill, marked with a white stone. He couldn’t forget his son’s death. Not even after nearly three years had passed. He blinked, forcing his gaze away. He knew what his grieving kinsmen were feeling right now, with their family members gone. Work was what they needed, to take their minds off the suffering and to go on.

It was what he had done. Because the moment he allowed himself to stop and think, the numbing grief would close in.

Work was the answer. The only answer he’d found for himself, when Laren had shut him out.

‘We’ll leave for Inveriston in another day,’ Nairna said. ‘I’ll speak to Bram and he’ll arrange it.’

‘I can’t finish the glasswork by then!’ The very idea was appalling. It took a full day and a half simply to make one colour, much less create a flat pane of glass.

Nairna’s mouth curved in a sly smile. ‘Oh, I don’t expect you to finish. We’re going to get you a commission. Bring one of your smaller pieces and a sketch of the design you want to do. We’ll get the window measurements and they’ll pay one-third of the cost up front, plus all of your supplies.’

Laren stopped arguing. She’d never thought about a commission. But the idea of having enough supplies and the chance to craft a window for one of the kirks … Her mind flooded with ideas.

‘What if they try to cheat us again?’ she asked, thinking of the time before when they’d sent Dougal to sell a piece of glass.

‘Dougal sold the glass to a merchant, not an abbot. And what does a lad of four and ten know about silver coins?’ Nairna moved to the back of the cavern, sorting through pieces. ‘We’ll use this one.’

She held up a frame that portrayed the rising sun over the loch. Laren had spent days trying to perfect the orange and yellow shades of glass and she’d experimented with the lead lines to create the effect of ripples in the water.

It was one of the first pieces that she’d been pleased with, a puzzle of glasswork that reminded her of the simple beauty around them.

‘You’ll tell them that it represents holy baptism,’ Nairna went on.

Laren gaped at her. ‘But it’s just the loch at sunrise.’

Nairna gently set down the glass. ‘Not to monks, it isn’t. The sun represents the resurrection of Christ, while the holy water washes us clean of our sins.’

‘It’s the loch,’ Laren repeated. She saw no reason to lie, not when the glass was pretty enough as it was.

Nairna put an arm around her and let out a sigh. ‘You see, that’s why you need me, Laren. We tell them what they want to hear and they will pay us a great deal for the honour.’

‘Even if it’s not the truth?’

‘It’s the truth,’ Nairna insisted. ‘Theirs, not yours.’

She still wasn’t convinced, but Nairna had more experience with handling merchants and selling items. With a shrug, Laren acceded, ‘I suppose.’

‘Leave all of the bargaining to me. You simply measure for the windows and talk about what colours they want. And do not, under any circumstances, tell them that it’s simply a loch.’

Laren smiled and Adaira came forwards, crawling into her lap. Her daughter snuggled her face against her chest, and Laren held her close. There was a slight shadow of wistfulness upon Nairna’s face and Laren knew her sister-in-law wanted a child of her own.

‘I’m glad you’re here, Nairna,’ she said. ‘And I hope we can profit from the glass, however slight it may be.’

‘It won’t be slight. I promise you that.’ Nairna took Adaira from her, lifting the child into her arms. She murmured sweet words to the bairn, nestling Adaira’s cheek against her own.

‘How is Bram?’ Laren asked as they walked around the far side of the loch.

‘He hasn’t forgotten the years he spent imprisoned.’ Nairna shifted the child’s weight to her opposite hip. ‘And he’s angry that Lord Harkirk still holds some of our countrymen captive. He talks of trying to free them.’

Laren shuddered at the thought of the men going off to fight again. She didn’t want Alex endangering himself, not so soon after this battle. ‘We have to keep our men here,’ she insisted. Though she was afraid of the hardships ahead, it would be easier to manage if they stood together. ‘They can’t go off to fight. Not until we’ve rebuilt Glen Arrin.’

Nairna squeezed her hand and there was a silent promise between them. They would find a way to earn coins from the glass and pray God it would be enough.