At The Laird's Command (Sword and Thistle 3)

“Aye,” the laird said, then met my eyes, his dark with sorrow. “Lass, I would never send anyone out of the castle unless it was for the good of the whole clan. It’s the same weighing of danger and justice that I make every time I ask a warrior to take on a dangerous mission. I did not send those villagers out to be cruel to them, but to be kind to all the others.”

I knew he must be right. The more I thought about men who had been warned before, and still chose to brawl in the keep…

“There have been others just as deserving as being ejected,” the laird explained, surprising me. “But they were either helpless children or womenfolk or old men who didn’t stand a chance. These two…”

These two should have known better and had the best chance at survival, I realized. And though the cold calculation chilled my blood, I couldn’t help but realize how foolish I’d been. The laird stepped to me and took my chin between his thumb and forefinger so that I was forced to look at him. “Lass, I should rather die myself than see your tender heart harden, so I will never count it against you when you come to me with what you believe you see as an injustice. All the same, you must be wary of people using you to influence me…”

I swallowed, and nodded. Was it possible that I could influence him? At the moment, I didn’t feel like it. In truth, I felt quite small and ignorant and chastened.

“And you must try not to interfere with my warriors.”

I bit my lower lip, understanding. I owed Ian Macrae an apology. A rather big apology. He didn’t like me, but he’d risked his life to protect me. I’d repaid him very poorly. “I regret interfering, Ian,” I murmured. “In truth, I regret many of the things I said—”

“Why were you even outside?” Ian barked.

“I was looking for you,” I replied, as I remembered the jar in my hand. “My sister is trying to organize the physickers herbs and we couldn’t read the word written here. I hoped…well, never mind what I hoped. I was in the wrong.”

Ian came to me and snatched the jar from my hand. “You can’t read it because these are rune symbols. No doubt a gift from some woman in the hills. Witchery or some such.”

My pleasure at realizing that my reading skill was not to blame for my lack of comprehension was overcome by disappointment that I wouldn’t be able to help Arabella. “Can you read rune symbols?”

“No, but there’s a book in the laird’s library somewhere on it,” Ian said.

“Why don’t you go look for it, lass,” the laird suggested, not unkindly, but I hesitated because it was a dismissal, and I felt as if I needed to make up for my error. But it was clear he wanted to be alone with his kinsman, so I was forced to accept my laird’s warm kiss upon my cheek, then retreated back down the stairs.

Chapter Five

THE LAIRD

John watched as his kinsman stared out over the loch where enemy ships were staying just out of range of their fire, all while blocking escape. Then Ian said, “I don’t know why you feel the need to explain yourself to your—”

“You don’t dare take me to task on that,” the laird interrupted before his kinsman provoked him. “Not when you forced the matter by bringing her up here to me, demanding that I explain myself.”

“You’re not going to tell her about the marriage offer, are you?”

The laird felt his heart frost over at the notion. He’d sent Ian to the most recent parley with the enemy, and the terms Ian had returned with had been troubling. The message from the enemy was clear: If Laird John Alexander Ramsay Macrae would turn over the castle and marry the daughter of the Donald clan chieftain, they’d let him live. It wasn’t just an offer to let him keep his head, but also one of a proper marriage alliance that might bring an end to the seemingly endless feuding.

But it brought John no joy whatsoever. “What would be the point of telling Heather?”

“No point at all,” Ian said, slowly. “Best you not tell anyone until it’s done.”

The laird’s chin jerked up. “Bloody hell, Ian. You don’t think I mean to accept, do you?”

“It’s that or your head! They want you dead. A thing I’d have not predicted, truthfully, given your mother’s bloodline.”

“That my mother was herself a Donald only makes them hate me more. That I have their blood but still fight them…that’s why they want my head.”

Ian shrugged. “S’pose it doesn’t matter why they want it, just that they’ve offered you a way out if you break your alliance with the Mackenzies and turn over the castle.”

John’s gut clenched. “I’m a sworn friend to the Mackenzies!”

“Aye, but the Mackenzies don’t seem to be keen to show their friendship to us. Where are the Mackenzie reinforcements? I don’t see them. There’s not even been word of them. No one is coming to relieve us. It’s winter. This is the strongest position you’ll be in to negotiate for your life and for the clan. We have supplies, the enemy is in a more difficult spot. But come springtime…”

Everything Ian said made perfect sense, but it was a matter of honor. The laird wasn’t about to be the first Macrae chieftain to surrender the castle at Eilean Donan. Not even if it cost him his head.

Nor could he see himself clear to marrying the Donald chieftain’s daughter.

Oh, he’d made a fine speech to Heather about all the pragmatic choices he made when it came to the lives of others, but when it came to his own life he found himself quite intractable. Heather was the woman he loved, the only woman he wanted. He knew he couldn’t have her for his wife, but he also couldn’t see his way clear to marrying anyone else.