Page 51

Chapter

T hey’d only just sat down, Maisie nowhere in sight, when his sister-in-law looked at Kieran as if she would chastise him. Though she’d greeted him warmly—not unexpected, given the new circumstances surrounding his background—Avelina appeared anything but warm now.

“What are your feelings toward Maisie?”

Not what he’d expected.

“Rather than discuss that we may be related, or are at least fellow clan members, or what Niall and I discovered today, you wish to know . . . my feelings toward Maisie?”

“Aye. I spoke to the maid, Alice, earlier. She told me that you remain in the hall each night until all of the inn’s patrons are abed. I can think of one reason to stay so far away from Aberdale rather than right within its village.”

Astute woman.

“Do you now wish to know what we learned today?”

“I wish to learn that and how you feel about the innkeeper.” He was about to answer when Avelina kept going. “I spoke with her, and the woman is clearly capable, very beautiful, and quite taken with you.”

“Taken with me?”

Niall looked back and forth between them as if he was enjoying their banter.

“You were not aware of it?”

Niall nearly spit out his ale. Kieran smiled as well, thinking of Maisie lying nude beside him, his hand on her hip, her breasts fairly beckoning him. How sensual she looked lying on that bed. How wonderfully tight she was.

“As you can see,” his brother said. “Kieran is well aware of it. We were to share a room last eve but”—Niall cocked his head to the side, as if thinking—“I slept most of the night with no companion. I did wonder where he’d gone off to—”

“Enough,” Kieran stopped him.

Avelina’s eyes could not have been opened any wider. “So, ‘tis as I thought.”

He reserved comment.

“Are you in love with her?”

“Lina,” Niall said. “I should mention that love is not required for a man and woman to be together. In fact, if you remember our own courtship—”

“I am well aware of the fact, husband. And also that she is a widow. But one does not remain in the hall of an inn all evening for a woman he simply wishes to bed.”

“Nay?” Niall asked. “‘Twould seem a fine reason to wait.”

“Niall.”

“Lina.”

Kieran leaned back, looking through the hall again but still not seeing her. Crossing his arms, he waited for the two of them to finish their conversation.

About him.

He cleared his throat just as Niall leaned into his wife and kissed her on the nose. “You are cute when you’re angry.”

“My feelings for Maisie,” Kieran said when his brother finished, “have naught to do with the fact that Niall and I learned there was, indeed, a boy who went missing at the battle from Clan MacKinlay. I met a healer who said as much but would reveal no further details unless I told her why I wished for the information.”

“You willnae tell her your identity?”

Where was Maisie? It was unlike her not to be in the hall for such an extended period of time.

“I do not believe the woman would keep the information to herself. So nay, I dinnae tell her. But today we spoke with others who remember the battle, and the boy.”

“You,” Avelina clarified.

“Aye, me.”

“And?” Avelina prompted. “What did they tell you? Did they know of the boy’s identity? And why have neither of you told me before now?”

He smiled sweetly at his sister-in-law. “You seemed intent on discussing other things.”

“Oh, you. Tell me,” she said.

Kieran was about to. But there was still no Maisie anywhere despite being mealtime. She’d never missed a meal that he could remember.

“Niall will tell you what we’ve discovered. I will be back,” he said, standing.

When he found one of the serving maids, he realized they had not seen Maisie for some time either. Something was amiss. He caught Niall’s eye out of more caution than was likely necessary, and without hesitation his brother stood and joined him.

“She is always here during the meal,” he said. “The maid has not seen her, which is also unusual.”

“I will get Dougal and Hamish.”

“The stables,” Kieran said, intending to begin his search there since he’d not seen her walk through the hall.

“And then the kitchens,” he added, heading toward the door.

There was no reason for Maisie to be in her rooms, and with every step he took, Kieran knew he should have begun looking for her earlier. She should have been in the hall.

A chill that promised the start of a new, even colder season forced most inside. He spotted no one, and nothing seemed amiss. Even so . . . Kieran could not get rid of the feeling something was wrong with Maisie. Why had he not gone looking for her earlier?

He froze.

There was a sound from behind the stables, barely perceptible over the ones from inside, but one that his trained ears as a tracker told him did not belong.

As he ran toward it, his worst fears came true at the scene before him.

Three men stood there, two watching while a third held a woman against the back of the wooden stables.

Maisie.

She noticed him before the others did. Her mouth covered by the bastard’s hand, while his other pinned both of her hands above her head, she looked as scared as he imagined she felt.

A rage surfaced inside him that Kieran had never—not in any battle or any other time in his life—experienced.

He unsheathed his sword so quickly that none of the men noticed until he was directly upon them.

Yanking the man off Maisie, he noticed three things at once.

The man was MacBrannigan.

His clansmen’s swords were already drawn.

And there was blood on the corner of Maisie’s lip.

For that, this day would be MacBrannigan’s last. “I’ll not kill an unarmed man,” he said, standing back, waiting for him to unsheathe his own sword. “But I am going to kill you for this.”

The others came toward him, Kieran now outnumbered three to one. He vaguely heard Maisie screaming his name when another voice, a very familiar voice, rang out from behind him.

“Do not,” his brother said to MacBrannigan’s clansmen. “Unless you wish to join your man in hell.”

By now MacBrannigan’s sword was drawn and at the ready. A quick glance back told Kieran what he already knew. Niall, Dougal, and Hamish were at the ready. ‘Twould be a slaughter if MacBrannigan allowed it.

MacBrannigan squared off against him, sword in hand, and it seemed his men were no longer considering interfering.

And though the man was strong, Kieran fought like he never had in his life.

Not giving MacBrannigan any quarter, he ignored Maisie’s calls.

Ignored everything save the rage that found the edge of his sword more than once come close to his opponent’s neck.

He did not aim to disarm him, as Kieran had done during their first fight.

He aimed to kill him.

And would have if he didn’t see the flash of Maisie’s gown just as Kieran lifted his arm to deliver a death blow, one even his men knew was coming by the sounds they made. She attempted to come to him, Niall grabbing her at the last moment.

He did something then that Kieran never, ever did in a fight. Lost his concentration. Instead of watching his opponent, he looked toward his brother and Maisie. Seeing that blood on her lip, thinking of what might have happened if he’d not gotten to her sooner . . .

“Kieran!” Niall yelled.

But it was too late. The sword sliced his arm at the same time he heard his brother scream and saw the terror in Maisie’s eyes.

Without hesitation, Kieran turned and delivered what he knew instantly would be a blow to end the miserable bastard’s life.

He wore no armor, and Kieran’s sword found its mark in his opponent’s chest. If he had any thoughts of preserving his life, as Maisie clearly wanted him to do, the gash in Kieran’s arm prevented any further such thoughts.

Everything happened at once.

“Whore,” MacBrannigan uttered, his last word on this earth a disparaging one, unsurprisingly.

Sheathing his sword and taking Maisie from his brother, he and Niall exchanged a quick glance and Kieran knew he would take care of MacBrannigan’s men. Though he could hear the chaos behind him, he cared only for Maisie.

Wiping the blood from her mouth, he held her to him as she cried.

“Shhh,” he said, smoothing her hair. “‘Twill all be well. You are safe.”

She continued to cry on his shoulder, Kieran murmuring words of comfort until she stopped. He glanced back to see MacBrannigan’s men carrying his body away.

“He . . . he nearly killed you,” she said finally, lifting her head. Though her face was wet and splotched with red, to him, Maisie was the most beautiful thing in the world at this moment. She was alive, and naught else mattered.

“This?” he asked, nodding to his arm. “A scratch, ‘tis all. I was in no danger of dying this day,” he lied. Becoming distracted in a swordfight could, indeed, have been the death of him.

“It’s bleeding,” she said.

His brother seemed to notice the same thing. Tearing off a portion of his plaid, Niall wrapped Kieran’s arm. “Does your village have a healer?” Niall asked Maisie.

“Aye,” she said. “We shall send for her.”

“Indeed,” Niall agreed, waiting.

Pulling back even farther from Maisie, Kieran grabbed one of her hands and squeezed. “Tell us, lass, what happened.” Before she began, he noticed their men were missing. He was about to ask Niall, but his brother seemed to anticipate the question.

“Ensuring MacBrannigan’s men leave the premises, as they were instructed.”

“Mmm.” He turned back to Maisie and waited.

“I was looking for Fergus,” she said. “He and his men were just arriving. I told him he was not welcome at my inn, and he dinnae take kindly me saying so.”

Kieran wanted to ask why she did not come for him first before delivering such news, but he refrained. He’d not question her judgement. Maisie was accustomed to running the Red Stag alone, and though he hated the fact, it was the way of things.

“I believed, at first, he was simply moving on. He and his men went into the stables, I presumed to fetch their horses. I waited for some time, but they never emerged. Until they did. Standing at the door, peering inside, I was taken unaware when MacBrannigan appeared suddenly and grabbed me, dragging me to this spot.”

“You fought him, clearly,” Niall said just as Lina ran up to them.

“I could not remain any longer,” she said. “Maisie?”

“She is well,” Kieran said as Lina went to Niall’s side. He explained. “Maisie was attacked and was explaining what had happened.”

Lina looked around. “Attacked? By whom? Where is the attacker?” She met Kieran’s eyes, understanding immediately. “Ahh.”

“I tried to fight him,” Maisie continued. “But he dragged me to where you found us. I could not scream and prayed only that you would come to find me. Which you did.”

“I should have come sooner. I thought it odd you were not in the hall.”

“I am thankful you came when you did. But you’re injured and . . .” She swallowed. Likely it was the first time Maisie had seen a man killed. Even a bastard such as MacBrannigan, a man who attacked her . . . it was not an easy thing to witness. Nor should it be.

“The bastard deserved to die,” he said. “Tales of his cruelty are well-known. Likely he’d never have left you alone.”

“Who was the man?” Lina asked.

“Duncan MacBrannigan,” Niall said.

“He is the MacBrannigan chieftain, is he not?” she asked.

“Was,” Kieran corrected.

None said any more for a time until Maisie, unfortunately, pulled her hand from his. “Come, we will fetch the healer. Your arm continues to bleed through.”

He wanted to say so much more. To tell Maisie that, despite his many battles, he’d never felt a terror rip through him as it had when he saw her pinned against that wall. Instead, he agreed as their party made their way into the inn.

Between what he and his brother had learned that day, the attack, and his feelings about what had transpired, they had much to discuss. It seemed from the way Maisie looked at him as they walked through the door, she agreed.