Page 11 of The Highlander’s Fallen Angel (Brotherhood of Solway Moss #2)

“Marriage brings one into fatal connection with custom and tradition, and traditions and customs are like the wind and weather, altogether incalculable.”

Soren Kierkegaard, Danish Philosopher, 1813–1855

The entire clan came to Scorrybreac to congratulate Tierney and Kenan. With each farming family trekking in from the countryside, Tierney cringed inwardly at the lie. Even if she hadn’t lied about a wedding, a handfasting was still a union, and she’d done neither.

She’d sworn never to bind herself to a man again, not after the horrors with Wallace. She had her sweet Maggie to love, and that would be enough. She’d also sworn never to give a man any power over her again. She’d sworn it to Jacob, which was why he was so suspicious of their story.

Tierney’s heart squeezed with each handmade gift and food offering the people brought. Jars of blackberry preserves and buttery cheeses, woven handkerchiefs, and even a bolt of silk. And each gift was given with their heartfelt thanks for creating such a strong alliance through Kenan. She couldn’t turn them away, so she just smiled.

’Twas amazing how fast news traveled within her dispersed clan. People had come to gather within two hours when hardly any had come to fight off Ranulf.

There’d been too much loss, and her people needed time to heal. Hopefully this lie would give them time to regain their strength to fight for their clan. Parents had lost sons at Solway Moss, men and women of all ages had died with the sweating sickness, and everyone had watched Asher MacNicol ride away from their clan with some of their mightiest warriors. It had all become too much for her people when they realized that the Macqueens had abandoned them, too, and then learned Tierney’s parents had perished at sea. ’Twas as if God had forsaken them.

Tierney felt cursed. All her plans had twisted into failures, and with this last threat by Ranulf, she’d nearly succumbed to defeat. But having a daughter, a little life that needed her to be strong, had bolstered her determination to try some highly risky plans—like abducting a Highland chief.

“Things are finally turning to favor us,” Doris said, walking with Edith, who been given a wool-lined sheath in which to store her blade.

“We still need to arm ourselves,” Edith answered, tapping the sheathed blade as they joined their friends.

The day was waning as people continued to arrive on foot and in wagons. A large bonfire had been lit, and children laughed, running around it. Each home brought out a dish to share, even though Tierney knew they didn’t have much. Without the muscle to help with the farming, only a quarter of their fields had been planted. But each household contributed what they could to celebrate the hope that Kenan had brought.

“I’ll stay with Maggie,” Cora said, coming up to Tierney and handing her a small cup of wine that Henry had opened.

Tierney pulled her gaze from Kenan who spoke with each warrior who arrived. “Tonight?”

Cora’s brows rose above her doe-like eyes. “While you take over your parents’ room.” She lowered her voice even more. “To look like you’re truly handfasted, you need to share it with Kenan.”

Holy Joan. What did Kenan expect of her? Her gaze slid back to him where he listened to the farmers, nodding every once in a while.

Kenan was taller than all of them, as if God had given him extra height to lead his massive clan. He’d washed and been given a clean tunic to wear. His dark, trimmed beard gave him the look of a handsome rogue, and his rock-hard body was built for war or lust. When he wasn’t staring daggers at an enemy, or a woman who’d drugged and shackled him, there was such kindness in his dark blue eyes.

It squeezed Tierney’s middle. How much had he just ruined with Cyrus Mackinnon by proclaiming that he’d handfasted with Tierney for a year? Of course, he could still marry Grace Mackinnon soon if he revealed the truth or after the year if he kept up their farce. Would the delay cause strife between the two great clans when Kenan tried to bring the Isle of Skye together? Guilt washed around in her stomach.

Perhaps he expected her to thank him in bed? The man was virile with youth, just like Wallace had been. Kenan was even larger than her dead husband with defined muscles. Wallace had acted kind at first, but as soon as they married, his cruel side took over.

Wallace had teased her and called her a coward when he’d taken her virginity. He hadn’t cared that she wasn’t ready, and pain had made her stiff. After that he’d called her icy, not someone anyone would want in their bed. It hadn’t stopped him, though. He’d been resilient to her frost and didn’t care if she lay there unmoving while he pumped into her. She’d hated him through it all, and any feelings of desire she’d felt before had died away.

Tierney shivered, rubbing her arms. But Kenan had shown her kindness even after all she’d done to trap him. He’d said things that warmed Tierney instead of threatening her with the mating act. He’d said he’d kiss her and taste her, bring her to pleasure. An unfamiliar pulse of heat between her legs made her shift.

Tierney walked across the square before Scorrybreac Tower that had been hung with bowers of spindly, bright-colored wildflowers. She’d bathed and donned her favorite blue gown with birds embroidered along the neckline. It felt like Beltane again with the laughter and food, except with every well wish, the lie within twisted.

Tierney strode to Kenan, stopping behind to listen as he spoke to Henry and the few warriors gathered.

“I’ve written three letters to send in the morn. Tomas, my general at Dunscaith, will receive my letter within the week, asking for a hundred volunteers to march to Scorrybreac.” Kenan held up a hand to stop Jacob. “They will bring their own supplies and are used to sleeping outdoors.” Kenan glanced at Gerald, the blacksmith. “I request ye make certain every person above the age of ten at Scorrybreac be given a sword, the size based upon their weight and height.”

Gerald nodded. “Ye’ll have to teach them how to not stab themselves.” He jutted a thumb toward Edith. “I gave her a sheath, but more should be fashioned.”

“I can work leather sheaths,” one newly trained warrior named Peter said. He was a tall lad, gangly but eager.

“Good,” Kenan said, the word firm as if he was checking it off a mental list. “I will give the women and young some lessons on what to do with their weapons and how to protect themselves.”

“I can help with that,” Tierney said, making Kenan turn toward her. At his gaze, her heart thumped harder, but she kept a serious, focused expression. “I’ve wanted everyone to learn how to protect themselves for a long time.” She was better at archery than thrusting a sword, but she knew the basics of where to slice a man to disable him.

Jacob spoke up. “Chief MacNicol didn’t agree with ye, Tier.”

After she’d turned fourteen, her father had disagreed with all her ideas, as if her turning from child into a woman had muddled her mind. Either that or the birth of a son made her obsolete, and he no longer wished to hear her voice.

She looked directly at Jacob. “My father believed we could survive with three quarters of our warriors dead from battle and disease.” She tipped her head in question as she skewered her childhood friend with her questions. “Do you, Jacob? Can you handle five armed Mathesons all on your own? Maybe six? Or would you like Edith to at least come behind and slice above their heel to sever a tendon?”

The picture she painted was morbid and not something her mother would like her discussing. But this was reality, and her mother was gone. She didn’t have time to acknowledge the lump in her throat. Her people would be slaughtered without help from somewhere, and she’d rather die than marry Ranulf for an alliance.

When Jacob didn’t answer, she came to stand next to Kenan. “Will Macdonald warriors arrive here before Mathesons retaliate?”

Kenan’s gaze remained on her, weighing her, and she felt a flush rise in her cheeks. Hopefully the waning light hid it. “I know his brother somewhat,” Kenan said. “He won’t react without thought, and he doesn’t much like Ranulf.”

Kenan hadn’t lied when he’d goaded Ranulf earlier.

“I expect Chief Matheson will pause before returning to our shores.” Kenan looked back out at the gathered men. “He became chief when his father died in 1539 helping the MacKenzies defend Eilean Donan Castle, and he’s still proving himself to his council five years later. Even if Murdoc wants his brother gone and a foothold on Skye, he isn’t foolish enough to immediately charge against Clan Macdonald, knowing all the clan resources we have even beyond Skye.” He looked across at the small group of young warriors who seemed to hang on his words. “I believe Ranulf will convince him to send troops, even if ’tis to stop the torment of his brother’s tongue.”

Jacob crossed his arms. “Chief Murdoc won’t mind if we kill his brother.”

“I have a brother like Ranulf,” Kenan said. “As much as I dislike Gilbert, if someone kills him without a good reason, Macdonalds will retaliate.”

Jacob cursed. Within the last year, he’d become the most skilled MacNicol warrior, stepping up when Asher left to lead the remaining men. Jacob had helped Tierney and Maggie more than she could expose. She’d told Jacob that any hint of ardor in her had died with Wallace’s abuse. She couldn’t return the feelings he had for her, no matter how he felt about her. He must think she was a liar having handfasted a near stranger. She sighed, knowing she was, in fact, just that.

Kenan crossed his arms, too, his hands resting on his mountainous biceps. She noticed how they strained against the sleeves of his tunic. Such obvious strength used to worry her, but Kenan had held her gently before him as they rode, even when he was furious and lusty. “Our goal should be to unite Scotland, not continue to tear it apart from the inside. ’Tis why England is stronger.”

The circle of men grumbled. “He’s right,” Tierney called out. “Think of how badly Scotland lost at Solway Moss when England had three thousand troops to Scotland’s fifteen thousand. ’Twas the conflict within our own ranks that crippled our country.

“I agree with Kenan. We need a stronger Scotland. Asher tried to tell my father that.” It wasn’t the first time Tierney wished her cousin was still on Skye. “Our country will never be strong if we attack ourselves from the inside like a sickness.”

Several of the men nodded grimly, and Kenan spoke. “I’ll send a letter to Murdoc Matheson, too, explaining the need for us to stay strong and allied, and that Clan Macdonald of Sleat is assisting Clan MacNicol.” He stared out at Jacob. “’Tis not my intent to take over at Scorrybreac.” Everyone remained silent, and Kenan let his gaze wander over them. “’Tis yers to manage and build. I pledge to help with that in an effort to make every clan on Skye strong and aligned.”

“Under a new Lord of the Isles,” Tierney said.

Kenan rubbed a hand down his cropped beard. “I prefer it to be a council of chiefs who agree to work together for the good of Scotland.”

She shrugged. “There’s always a need for a leader of leaders, as long as he doesn’t have absolute power. A leader does not have to be a king.”

Henry stared at her, aghast. He didn’t think she should be discussing politics and had told her father that. She’d continued reading strategy and governmental procedures even after her father had stopped discussing matters with her, preferring to school Gabriel in such matters.

Kenan didn’t agree nor disagree, but he studied her as if she’d just revealed a new side of herself. So far, he’d seen her as a half-drowned thief, a trickster, a jailor, a cold liar, and a desperate mother. She was also a strategist, and he would eventually see her as a warrior.

Kenan looked at the men. “Let’s meet on the field where ye train tomorrow, with all the able-bodied warriors, and we can plan defense.”

“And the women,” Tierney said. “Can we start lessons?”

Kenan nodded. “Ye can instruct them after I see yer skills.”

She opened her mouth to remind him that her proven skills had seen him abducted and shackled but then remembered that these men didn’t know that, nor should they. “Certainly,” she said, sounding more like one of his soldiers than a handfasted betrothed.

They began to talk about crop productivity, and Kenan suggested the unused fields be burned to push back the old growth and put nourishment back into the soil. Bored with the mundane discussion that crept along for long minutes, Tierney wandered off to chat with some of the older ladies discussing a fulling party later in the week. They would work sheep urine into the wool to make it waterproof and soft. It was hard work that Tierney joined in often, as long as they sang while accomplishing the arduous task.

“Tierney.”

She turned to see Jacob standing behind her and glanced past him. “Have you all stopped talking about crops?” She saw Kenan still listening to Henry, who flipped his hand about with his words.

“Aye. Can I speak with ye?”

“I will help at the fulling party,” Tierney told the ladies.

“Unless we are needed to fight,” one younger woman said with a vigorous nod. Everyone agreed, and Tierney walked off next to Jacob.

Jacob led her into the shadows behind Doris’s cottage framed by a low, white-washed fence. “What is it?”

His hands scratched through his hair. “I don’t like that ye were forced into handfasting with him. To help us, ye’ve given him a year of yer life. A year of…having to…having to let him bed ye when I know ye don’t want that.”

Lord help her. She didn’t know what she wanted. She’d told Jacob she wouldn’t suffer a man’s touch ever again, but the thought of Kenan touching her didn’t turn her stomach. Instead, the thought, which she’d been having more and more, made heat spiral through her, heat like she’d never known but recognized as lust.

“Jacob,” she said, “I’m not some maiden to be protected, and Kenan is honorable. He won’t hurt me like Wallace.”

Jacob didn’t seem pacified. “He could break yer heart, Tierney, use ye for a year and then throw ye away. A man like that has other women waiting for him. He won’t be faithful to ye.”

A twisting sensation ground in her stomach. Grace Mackinnon was waiting for him.

Jacob stepped closer. “I know men like him, powerful men who attract women. They use them and move on to the next. I won’t do that.”

“How do you know Kenan so well? Have you met him before, seen him do this attraction and using? Know his verified history?” Irritation had replaced her calm tone.

Jacob reached out, holding her arm. “I worry about ye, Tierney. I’ve always protected ye. I could still protect—”

“I thank you for…what you’ve done for me and Maggie,” she said, laying her hand on his forearm, “but you don’t have a clan with warriors ready to charge in and protect all of us.”

He clasped her hand. “We can still run away together, the three of us. Even Gabriel and Cora could—”

“I won’t abandon Scorrybreac, Jacob.” She shook her head, trying to pull her hand back, but he wouldn’t let go. “I will keep it safe until Gabriel can be chief.”

He pulled her closer. “Ye have other options, Tier,” he whispered. “Better options. Let the Macdonalds keep the Mathesons off Skye while ye and Maggie leave with me. Kenan Macdonald is a powerful clan chief, surrounded by lasses who want to wed him, lasses with large dowries and connections. ’Tis obvious he wants to unite Skye and Scotland more than he wants ye. I do not doubt that he will abandon ye in a year. Let me be the one to love ye. I will never leave ye, Tier.”

His words shot like a punch to her chest, simultaneously stopping her breath and mixing her confusion with anger and pain. Jacob must have interpreted her silence for acceptance because his mouth descended onto hers. He tasted of whisky just like Wallace. Panic stalled her response, and she stood there remembering the feeling of being trapped with brute strength that far surpassed her own.

…

Kenan’s hand gripped the rough-hewn picket of the fence where he stood in the dark, watching like a bloody peeper. He’d seen Jacob lead Tierney behind the cottage into the shadows from the other side of the square. Following was obvious to anyone paying attention, but he followed anyway. His pride was already down the privy having been trapped and abducted by a lass. He’d declared them handfasted to help her, never guessing that she might love another. Tierney had never even mentioned Jacob.

She did. He’s one of the three men she trusted .

She’d said she didn’t want a man, hadn’t she? That she’d been released from a terrible marriage. Rising anger muddled his memories of their discussions in the hidden cabin. He breathed slowly to gain control of his swirling temper. How much humiliation could one man stand? Abducted, shackled, made to go against his own plans to unite Clan Macdonald and Clan Mackinnon, and now Tierney was with a man in the shadows at their handfasting celebration.

Ye’re too soft . His father’s words, even from the grave, prickled under Kenan’s skin.

His hand clenched, and he knew if he released the picket on the fence, he’d charge forward and break Jacob Tanner in half. Kenan might be slow to anger, but once he was furious, his well-built frame and finely tuned abilities quickly became lethal.

And he was enraged. At Jacob Tanner, at Tierney, and at himself. It was a trinity of fury.

Crack! The sound of knuckles hitting flesh shot through the night.

“Fok, Tier!” Jacob’s pained voice kept Kenan’s boots planted on the grassy path. “My bloody eye!”

Tierney’s voice was hushed but full of indignant fury. “You’re lucky I don’t have one of Gerard’s short swords yet.”

Jacob’s voice returned as angry as hers, almost enough to make Kenan advance. “’Twas just a kiss. And ye need to know what ye’ve given up by tying yerself to that stranger.”

“Given up?”

Kenan couldn’t see more than her shadow, but it was stiff, and her fists were raised.

“I’ve given up sour, drooling kisses,” she shot back.

“Fok,” Jacob whispered. “Ye don’t know what ye want. I taught ye to live in the forest. I said I’d help ye and Maggie run away. I even helped free ye from Wallace when yer father did nothing. And what do ye do? Leap into the bed of the enemy.”

Jacob helped free her from her marriage to Wallace?

“I haven’t leaped into anyone’s bed, you arse, and Kenan’s not our enemy.”

“Yer father sure thought he was. Called the Macdonald chief the devil who was spit down from heaven to plague our isle.”

“Kenan is a new chief, and my father only thought MacNicols were worthy of ruling Skye. But God disagreed when he took two thirds of our people through war and sickness.”

Kenan held tight to the fence picket so he wouldn’t charge into what Tierney was handling quite well on her own. Fury impassioned her voice, and yet her arguments were sound. A warrior who could think while rage heated their blood was lethal.

Jacob swore, his words flying. “Spreading yer legs for the enemy to save yerself is exactly what yer father had planned for ye to do with Ranulf, and yet ye refused.”

Kenan released the picket. Rather, he yanked it from the ground, letting it drop as he strode into the shadows. Jacob leaped backward as Kenan stalked around the corner like an avenging demon coming up from the blackness of Hell. Kenan grabbed the front of his tunic at the neck, fisting it tight as he lifted until Jacob was on his toes, his tunic biting into his armpits.

“Coward,” Kenan said before Jacob’s face, grinding the word out like a growl. “To corner a woman in the shadows, force a kiss on her, and then condemn her for saving her clan with slander because of yer own selfish jealousy.”

“Foking let go,” Jacob said.

“Ye’ve had all evening to challenge me, but ye wait to drag Tierney into the shadows and accost her.”

“Let him go, Kenan,” Tierney said behind him. “He’s a fool who’s had too much whisky and is muddled with regrets.”

He held tight to Jacob, shaking him to remind him that he could break him easily if he wanted. Kenan remembered how Asher had broken the guard’s neck at Carlisle. That wasn’t Kenan, but it could be.

Jacob glared back in the minimal light, his teeth clenched between parted lips.

“Foolish coward.” Kenan shoved Jacob back as he released him. He’d been Tierney’s childhood friend and a MacNicol warrior. Killing him was the wrong thing to do or even consider.

Jacob found his footing and lunged at Kenan. So the pup had enough courage to make him stupid.

Crack!

Kenan’s fist contacted Jacob’s face, the charging man adding to the force of the impact. It swept Jacob right off his feet, and he landed on his back with a thump and a groan, his head lulling to the side.

“Mo chreach!” Tierney yelled and shoved at Kenan’s arm so she could crouch down to check on the unconscious man.

“What?” Kenan asked, anger still making his voice hard. “Ye can punch him, but I can’t?”

“Thank God he’s breathing,” she said and rose.

Instead of God, she should be thanking Kenan, because he could have broken the arse’s neck.

She turned, and Kenan was startled when she yanked his hand, still fisted up in the air. She held her own fist next to it. “I hit him with this,” she said, her small fist half the size of his. “And you hit him with this.” She clutched his, her nails curling inward like the talons of a hawk wrapping around a squirrel.

Why had he reacted so quickly with such hardness? “I could have killed him, but I chose leniency,” he said.

Tierney flapped her hand at Jacob, lying unconscious on the ground. “This is leniency?”

Irritation brushed away the guilt she hurled toward him. “He took ye into the shadows, kissed ye against yer will, accused ye of spreading yer legs for me, and then lunged at me. He deserved more than a punch in the face.” Kenan’s usual mellow temper had turned to ash under the fire raging through him, and his voice had risen to shouting. The day had been full of prickly trials, and his temper could stand no more.

Several men, including Henry, jogged around the corner with torches, lighting the scene. They looked from Kenan to Tierney to Jacob. Instead of questions, understanding seemed to relax their faces. Did everyone know of Jacob’s fondness for Tierney?

Kenan grabbed her hand, noticing her flinch. She’d probably bruised her knuckles from hitting Jacob. His hand was so callused and toughened from abuse that the impact and bruising hadn’t even been noticed.

“Come,” he ordered, marching away. She dug in her heels, but he was not ready to placate. Kenan swept Tierney up in a move he’d used with his younger sister when she’d run from him while playing tag, lowering her over one of his shoulders. Unfortunately, he did it before half the village who had come around the cottage to see what was going on.

“Put me down, you addle-brained Goliath,” Tierney called, and he felt her hair tickle the backs of his knees. One of her fists struck his back, and her booted feet began to kick. He grabbed her calves with one arm and her nicely rounded arse with the other to keep her firmly in place while she thrashed.

“My fence,” Doris said with a condemning tone. “Did that Jacob Tanner yank out my fence post, too? I’m going to beat that boy.”

Kenan didn’t bother to explain but continued to stalk off toward the meadow beyond where the light from the celebration fire didn’t reach.

It was time they had a private discussion.