Highland Fire

  From their places beside the altar the cluster of black-robed priests, led by Father Malone, strode forward, their hands folded as if in prayer. They positioned themselves around Colin, Kieran and Megan.

  With eyes blazing, Sir Cecil shouted, “As emissary to Her Majesty, I order you to kill them all.”

  Still the soldiers refused to move until the swarthy guard named Whip, his gaze fastened on Megan, shouted, “The lady is mine. And I will kill all who stand in my way.” Lifting his sword, he charged into the crowd of priests. Reluctantly the other soldiers followed.

  At the door of the chapel, Sir Cecil lifted the knife to Lady Katherine’s throat. “Alas, dear lady, I only needed you to escape your sons,” he murmured. “Your presence would slow me down as I make my escape.”

  “You are as evil as Kieran said.”

  “Evil? Nay, my lady. I simply seek to take advantage of the opportunities afforded me by my position as Queen’s emissary. And now I shall savor the vindication for the insult you hurled at me in my youth.”

  “Vindication?” She stared at him with horror. “All of this was done because I chose Sean O’Mara over you when we were young?” And then her horror turned to pain as she was struck by a terrible thought. “Have you also taken out your fury on my daughter? Are you the reason Fiona disappeared, Cecil?” Her lips trembled as she whispered, “Tell me where she is.”

  “She and her husband are prisoners in my country estate in Essex, my lady. And when I return to England, I will have the pleasure of telling them that everyone they loved in this filthy land is dead. And while they are still weeping over your death, I shall have them killed, as well.”

  “It is enough to know that Fiona is alive.” Lady Katherine faced him stoically, seeing the razor edge as the knife flashed toward her.

  Before he could finish the deed, Sir Cecil heard the thunder of hoofbeats and turned to find Hugh Cleary, mounted on a foaming stallion, bearing down on him. Sunlight glinted off the sword in Hugh’s hand.

  “I have dreamed of this moment,” Hugh said.

  “I will kill the woman,” Sir Cecil cried.

  But before the words had escaped his lips, he let out a shriek as Hugh’s sword found his heart. Before Sir Cecil crumpled to the ground, Hugh scooped Lady Katherine into his arms and held her firmly against his chest.

  “Oh, Hugh.”

  For long moments she could only cling to him as the tremors shuddered through her. Then, composing herself, she whispered, “I know not how you arrived in time. But I am forever in your debt.”

  “Kieran met us along the road,” he said. “And alerted us to the danger.” He pressed his lips to her temple. “My life would not have been worth living had I not arrived in time.”

  “Fiona is alive in England,” she murmured, wiping tears from her cheeks.

  “Aye. My men have found her. Even now, she and her husband ride toward Killamara.”

  He breathed in the scent of her. Then, composing himself, he set her down and said briskly, “Take the child and the women and lock yourselves in the chapel’s sanctuary. They cannot harm you there.”

  “But Kieran and Colin…”

  “Your sons are men, Katherine. And capable of fighting their own battles.”

  His words were tempered by the look of love in his eyes. Seeing the wisdom of them, she nodded silently and went in search of Bridget and the women.

  “Kieran,” Hugh called, tossing a sword as he urged his mount up the aisle of the chapel.

  Kieran caught it and plunged into the cluster of unarmed priests who bravely defied the soldiers. When the first soldier fell, Colin quickly retrieved the man’s sword and joined his brother in the fray. Moments later another soldier fell, and Megan scooped up his weapon. She felt a tug upon her arm and found, to her astonishment, little Bridget clinging to her skirts.

  “Go,” Megan cried. “Hide yourself beneath the pews.”

  “Nay, my lady. You taught me to hold a sword. I would fight by your side.”

  “God in heaven. What have I done?” Lifting Bridget in her arms, Megan began to run toward the sanctuary, where the women had hidden themselves behind locked doors. When she reached the door she pounded with her fist, shouting, “Lady Katherine. Bridget is with me. You must open this door.”

  She heard the cries of relief. But before the lock could be thrown, Megan felt the child wrenched from her arms and tossed aside. Stunned, she whirled and found herself face to face with Whip. In his eyes was a lust for blood.

  “Now, my lady,” he rasped, “we have some unfinished business.”

  As he lifted his sword he was unprepared for her sudden movement. Dodging his thrust, she brought her sword up, barely missing his throat. His rage grew as he realized how skilled the lady was with a weapon. She matched him thrust for thrust until, his breath coming in fast spurts, he found himself backed against the wall. His eyes narrowed as he fought off her advance and managed to pin her to the wall with the tip of his blade. As she struggled to free her sleeve from the offending blade, he lifted his hand and caught her with a stinging blow, sending her crumpling to the floor. As she fell she hit her head upon a protruding stone in the wall. Her sword slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor beside her.

  With an evil laugh Whip snarled, “So, my lady, at last I have my revenge. I have already disposed of the Irishman. And now I will rid the kingdom of you as well.”

  “Kieran?” As if from a great distance she heard his words and felt her eyes fill with tears. She was losing consciousness. Soon she would be as helpless as a bairn. “You killed Kieran?”

  “Aye. As I promised I would. It was my revenge for his murder of my friend at Fleet. And now, my lady, ye will join him.”

  He lifted his sword. Though she could barely make out his form in the blackness that clouded her vision, she heard a child’s voice beside her.

  “Here, my lady.” The hilt of her sword was thrust into her hand.

  She felt the warmth of the hilt as her nerveless fingers wrapped around it. Relying only upon instinct, she lifted it and gave one final thrust. She felt the blade of Whip’s sword pierce her flesh. And then she was falling. Falling through a black cave that seemed to have no light.

  Kieran picked himself up from the floor where he had fallen after an attack by half a dozen soldiers, including the crazed guard, Whip. Blood seeped from a wound in his chest. He stared at the number of bodies around him and wondered how he had survived. He remembered being struck by the guard’s sword, then falling. But he could not recall fighting all these men.

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw a movement and whirled. The man lying on the floor at his feet was Tavis Downey. Kneeling, he swore when he saw the gaping wound in his old friend’s chest.

  “I sent you home, Tavis. Why are you here?”

  “When have you ever fought without me at your side, lad? Once again I had to save your hide.”

  “Hush, old friend. You are losing much blood.” As he made a move to stem the flow, Tavis caught his hand in a death grip. “Leave it. ’Tis too late.”

  Though Kieran’s mind rejected such a thought, he knew it to be true. His friend’s face already wore the mask of death.

  “You gave your life for me, Tavis.”

  “Little enough price to pay for what I put you and Colin through.” His voice grew weaker until it was a mere whisper. “I ask one favor in return.”

  Kieran leaned close. “Anything.”

  “Say I am forgiven.”

  “Aye. You were forgiven when I offered you my hand at the cottage.”

  “Then I die at peace.”

  Kieran grasped his hand and felt his fingers tighten for a moment before they went slack. As he watched, Tavis breathed his last.

  Through eyes glazed with pain Kieran saw Colin make his way toward him. He clasped his brother’s shoulder as he tossed his bloody sword aside. The killing was done.

  It seemed incongruous to see brilliant sunlight streaming through the win
dows of this holy building, bathing the bloodstained bodies that littered the floor.

  “Can you stand, Kieran?” Colin offered him an arm and Kieran leaned weakly against him. Then, growing stronger, he stood alone.

  From the corner of his eye Colin saw the bishop fall to his knees. With a cry, he rushed to his uncle’s side. The bishop was kneeling beside the altar, cradling a still form in his arms. Colin felt a lump rise to his throat as he gazed at the bloodied body of Father Arden Malone. Even in death his face was serene.

  “He gave his life for us,” Colin said softly as Kieran walked over to join them.

  “Aye. And he will earn a martyr’s reward in heaven,” Bishop O’Mara whispered. “I would gladly trade places with him. For his love was truly greater than any man’s. And his reward will be greater.”

  They all looked up as a child’s whimper pierced the stillness.

  “Bridget.” Kieran glanced around, then set off at a run to locate the child.

  He found her standing before the door to the sanctuary. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she gazed at a crumpled form on the floor. When he drew closer Kieran recognized Megan and felt his heart stop.

  The door slowly opened and the women filed out, forming a circle around them. Lady Katherine tried to draw her granddaughter to her, but the child pushed away and clung to Megan’s cold, lifeless hand.

  “God in heaven.” With a cry Kieran fell to his knees and drew Megan into his arms. He felt a rush of relief when he found her pulse.

  Blood streamed from the back of her head and from a wound to her shoulder. He could see, by the position of the dead guard, that she and Whip had been locked in mortal combat. And though she had sustained a terrible blow to the head, she had once again bested her opponent.

  “Can you hear me, Megan?” he whispered.

  Her lids fluttered. “Aye.” She jerked upright and reached for a weapon. Then, glancing at the dead man beside her she whispered, “Is it Whip?”

  At Kieran’s nod she whispered, “He said he had killed you. And I feared that he had succeeded in killing me, as well.”

  “It was Tavis he killed. As you can see, Megan, I am alive. And we need fear Whip no more. Your sword ended his life.”

  For long moments she stared at him. Then, touching a hand to the swollen mass at her skull, the realization dawned. With a note of wonder she proclaimed, “My name is Megan MacAlpin. I am leader of my people. My sisters’ names are Meredith and Brenna. And Jamie MacDonald and I were hunting in the Highlands when we were attacked.”

  “Oh, my beloved.” Kieran pressed his lips to her temple. “It has all returned to you.”

  “Aye. Everything.” She started to get to her feet, but a fresh wave of pain sent her swaying in his arms. She looked around as the others peered at her. “Is the battle over?”

  “Aye, my little warrior.”

  “I regret I missed it.” She gazed at him, and a tremulous smile touched her lips. “Bridget was a fine pupil,” she murmured. “For it was she who saved my life.”

  A chuckle started deep in his chest and he threw back his head and roared. “Only you, my brave little Megan, could make me smile at such a somber time. In the blink of an eye you have recalled your past, disposed of an old enemy and regretted missing more of the battle, while praising your youngest pupil.”

  “I was never known for my patience. Or my reticence.”

  “Have you only now discovered that?” Though his words were teasing, his look was filled with love. “It is something I learned from our first encounter.”

  “Be careful, my lord. Or I will let you taste my temper, as well.”

  His laughter faded at the sound of thunderous hoofbeats growing nearer.

  From his position beside the window Colin shouted, “Kieran. Quickly. There are hundreds of horses advancing upon us. We stand no chance against this army.”

  “English?” Hugh Cleary signaled his weary men to prepare once more for battle.

  “I know not.” As Colin and the others hastily unsheathed their weapons, he watched the advancing army and added, “They are as tall as giants, with shoulders as wide as longbows. Their hair is long and shaggy. They wear saffron shirts beneath rough wool tunics. Their cloaks are of plain homespun. And,” he added with a voice tinged with awe, “many of this wild horde are bare-legged, like savages.”

  “God in heaven,” Megan cried. “It could be no one else on earth.”

  Struggling to her feet, Megan leaned on Kieran’s arm and shouted, “Do not lift arms against them. They did not come to attack. They are the Highlanders, come to rescue me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  S pying the dead and wounded who littered the grounds, the Highlanders surrounded the chapel while their leaders made straight for the massive church doors. Before they could put their shoulders against them, the doors were thrown open and Megan, leaning upon Kieran’s arm, stepped forward with a smile of greeting.

  “Oh, Jamie. Jamie.” With a cry of delight she launched herself into his arms and hugged him to her.

  She was surprised when, instead of returning her embrace, he roughly thrust her behind him and drew his sword.

  “By all that is holy,” he said through gritted teeth, “I swore to have my revenge against the one who gave me his word to protect the lass and then stole her away.”

  Kieran faced the young giant in silence. Behind him, Colin and Hugh drew their weapons. Hugh’s army did the same.

  “Jamie, you do not—”

  “Nay, my lady. This is between the Irishman and me,” he growled. “I have spent many a sleepless night,” he said, swiveling to face Kieran, “dreaming of this moment. Never has the lass been out of my thoughts. I have died a thousand times because I dared to entrust her to your keeping. Now you will pay for every harm inflicted upon my leader.” His eyes were as cold as flint. “Draw your sword, Irish bastard. And face me like a man.”

  “Jamie, he is not your enemy.”

  The young Scot was beyond reason. Megan caught his arm, but he shook her off. It was then that she took the time to really look at him. Since last she had seen him, he had changed. There was none of the boy left in him now. His body seemed taller, leaner; his muscles were honed to perfection. There was a haggard look to his red-bearded face. His eyes wore the haunted look of one who was driven.

  He glanced at Megan, then to Kieran. “Has he bewitched you, my lady? Is that why you stand with this monster against your own?”

  “Oh, Jamie. Do you not see?”

  In desperation, she looked beyond him and saw, for the first time, the face of her brother-in-law, Brice Campbell, who stood at attention before his warriors.

  “Brice. God in heaven, is it truly you?”

  He held out his arms to her and she ran to him. Kieran watched as the giant lifted her as easily as a bairn and pressed his face to her hair. Though he showed no emotion, Kieran’s hands clenched at his sides. And though he hated himself for such foolishness, he felt a wave of black, blinding jealousy.

  “You must convince Jamie that Kieran O’Mara is our friend,” she cried.

  “A friend would not carry you away from all that you hold dear, lass. It must be as Jamie said. You have been bewitched by this monster.”

  Megan looked from Brice to Jamie and saw that both men wore the same determined expressions. They had come seeking vengeance. And somehow, she must find a way to dissuade them.

  Pushing free of Brice’s arms she strode forward until she was standing between Jamie and Kieran. “You must listen,” she said in clear, commanding tones. “It is true that Kieran O’Mara gave his word to Jamie that I would be returned to my people. But when I awoke from my wounds, I had lost all memory of the past.”

  She heard the ripple of surprise that passed through the ranks of the Highlanders.

  “Aye. I could not even recall my name. Nor could I remember Jamie, or you, Brice, or—” her voice lowered with pain “—even the names of my own sisters.” Seeing the shocked l
ooks on their faces, Megan pressed ahead. “Kieran O’Mara and his brother, Colin,” she said, turning to point out Colin to the Highlanders, “had escaped from Fleet Prison and were being trailed by English soldiers. They could not tarry in our land.”

  “An escaped prisoner—” Jamie began, but Megan cut him off.

  “Being a man of honor, Kieran O’Mara refused to abandon me in the forest. So his only choice was to take me with them until I could regain my memory. Yet it was not until this day in a battle with those same English that my memory returned to me.”

  In the silence that followed, Megan swallowed and prayed she could quench the fire that still burned in Jamie’s eyes. It would take more than a few words to quell the inferno that had been building within him for such a long time.

  “Had you not arrived when you did, I know that Kieran O’Mara would have surely returned me to my people as soon as I recovered from my latest wounds.”

  Despite her assurances, Jamie stood his ground, his sword still clenched firmly in his hand. And though he felt a grudging admiration for the man who had eluded so many fallen English, he could not forget the hatred he had nurtured all these endless days and nights while he had searched for the man who had stolen the MacAlpin.

  Kieran was as unbending as Jamie. These savages had dared to invade his land and demand the return of their leader. He found himself wondering if Megan had spoken the truth. Would he, in fact, have offered to return her to her people? Or would he have tried to persuade her to stay with him and make her home in Killamara? Now, it would seem, there would no longer be any choice.

  Seeing the impasse, Lady Katherine stepped forward, clutching Bridget’s chubby hand in hers. “Megan’s people are welcome in Killamara. I know you are weary, for Megan has told us of the perils of the long and difficult journey from your land to ours. Come.” She gave a gentle, enigmatic smile as she thought of the servants who had labored so hard for this day. At least they would have reason now to celebrate. “We have a feast prepared. Let us talk among ourselves and find a path toward peace between our people.”