Page 14 of The Highlander’s Fallen Angel (Brotherhood of Solway Moss #2)

“Never regret thy fall, O Icarus of the fearless flight

For the greatest tragedy of them all

Is never to feel the burning light.”

Oscar Wilde – Irish Poet & Playwright, 1854–1900

Rap! Rap!

“Kenan Macdonald, are ye in there?” It was a man’s voice, forceful and deep.

Kenan’s eyes snapped open, plucking him from the hazy dream of riding across the moor on Freya’s broad back with Tierney laughing before him. Talons of sleep, trying to hold onto his foggy mind, made it difficult to take in the destruction around him. Where was he, and what the hell had happened to this room?

Dark drapes lay in haphazard piles around the large bed he was sprawled across. He turned his face to see Tierney, her golden hair tangled around her as she pushed up with her hands, her full breasts hanging down looking warm and perfectly in need of more suckling. Aye. He knew exactly where he was.

“Who is that?” Tierney whispered as more voices could be heard in the corridor. She glanced around, blinking. “Holy Joan. Did we do all this?”

Suddenly, the door opened. Tierney squeaked and rolled her naked body away as if to grab the blanket edge, but she got too close to the bed’s side. Yelping, she rolled off, her bare legs flying through the air. She thudded onto the floor on the far side of the bed with a curse.

“Kenan?” the man asked, anger and surprise squeezed into his name.

“Aye,” he said but looked over the edge to see Tierney lying flat, her wild hair tossed out like a sun goddess.

She rubbed an elbow but then motioned to the door, her eyes wide. “Who is it?”

Kenan rolled away, sitting up in a fluid motion, and someone near the door gasped. Four people stood just inside, Cyrus Mackinnon and his sister, Grace, being the least welcome. Bloody hell.

Kenan grabbed one of the throw blankets from the floor at his feet and began wrapping it around his naked hips. It was a white quilt and made him look like a sheep in need of a shearing.

“Sara,” he said to his sister who stood next to Henry MacNicol. “What are ye all doing here?”

“I thought I was saving you from brigands or mercenaries,” she said, her gaze shifting to the sheet slowly being pulled off the far side of the bed. They all watched the sheet disappear over the side like a shallow wave sliding along the shore.

“Ye found him?” Rory MacLeod jogged up, stopping abruptly at the scene. “Lord. Did a cannonball fly through the bed?”

Indeed, it looked like something had crashed through the room with the heavy drapes all yanked down, the wooden slats above splintered where the fabric wouldn’t let go. Their clothes were also left in strewn heaps, displaying the haste of their removal. A chair was knocked over, too.

Sara’s hand covered her mouth. Her gaze scanned the mess, landing on Kenan. She dropped her hand. “Did you do all this destruction?”

“It wasn’t like this yesterday,” Henry said in a fluster. “We would never put Chief Macdonald and Lady Tierney in a broken bed.”

Sara’s hand flapped up and down at Kenan’s naked state. “You broke it while you were—”

“Grace, go downstairs.” Cyrus’s face had turned hard and red.

“Lady Tierney?” Grace Mackinnon snapped with barely checked rage, her beauty slipping away as if she’d thrown off a mask.

And Tierney, being herself, could not stay hidden any longer. With golden, tousled hair, she rose, the sheet wrapped around her curvy frame. She walked out from around the destroyed bed with grace and dignity, reminding him of an angel draped in white who had apparently fallen from heaven into pleasurable sin. Someone should sculpt her .

“I am Tierney MacNicol.”

“MacNicol?” Rory said. “Not Bruce, a cousin to Eleanor MacLeod who doesn’t exist?”

Grace’s face was pinched in a sneer as she looked down her nose at Tierney. “You’re the flying thief from Rory’s wedding.”

“Go downstairs, Sister,” Cyrus said again, his granite gaze on Kenan. His friend was furious. Kenan couldn’t blame him. Not with a betrothal contract between Kenan and Grace probably folded inside his sash.

“Why didn’t ye say ye were a MacNicol?” Rory asked, frowning. “Trickery, then?”

“Nothing untoward is going on here,” Henry called out, his words coming in a spluttering cadence. “Our lady went to Dunvegan for help and found Lord Kenan. They handfasted. As good as married.”

“Handfasted!” Cyrus yelled.

“Married!” Grace said at the same time.

Suspicion still pinched Rory’s brows. “We thought ye were taken by force.”

He was, but he wasn’t about to explain how he’d let Tierney abduct him. “There were unexpected circumstances,” Kenan said. Hopefully, Rory trusted him enough not to press for more answers.

“But you left without a word,” Sara said, frowning.

“Ye were busy, Sister, with yer wedding feast.”

Sara narrowed her eyes. “You left your clothes behind.” The woman could ferret out a secret like a pig after truffles. “Rory tracked your large-footed horse to an abandoned cabin in the woods where there was a chain attached to a loop in the wall and one wrapped around the rafters.” Her voice had risen in volume as she spoke. “Chains, Kenan! And then there were wagon tracks, Freya’s tracks, and boot prints, big and,” she looked at Tierney, “small.”

Cyrus’s anger spiked off him. Grace stared daggers at Tierney. And Tierney looked like she was building up to answer, so Kenan did first.

“There are a lot of parts to this story,” he said. “All of it better heard below.”

“With yer damn arse covered,” Cyrus said and turned. He looped his arm through his sister’s and practically dragged her out of the room.

Henry frowned, looking between them. “Lady Sara and Chief Rory MacLeod? Ye two witnessed the handfasting after yer wedding.”

Sara’s face swung back to Kenan, and he let her see the request in the slight widening of his eyes.

Lie for me, Sister . There’s a good reason.

Sara’s lips parted, and she gave a rapid nod. “Yes, but then you disappeared.”

Henry released an audible sigh of relief.

Kenan would owe her. Hopefully, Rory would go along with the lie, too. “If ye could give us a moment,” Kenan said, “we’ll come below and explain things.” Or at least some things. His sister would not take kindly to hearing how Tierney had drugged and shackled him.

It was amazing how a night of incredible tupping could make those details, which were once important to him, seem diminished. When he glanced back at Tierney, still wrapped in the sheet with a bemused look of ravishment, they completely disappeared. In fact, if she was naked and wanting to do what they did last night, he’d let her shackle him again.

Rory moved his arm in a wide arc. “Let’s all wait for them below, then.”

“I will call for sustenance to break our fast,” Henry said, leading the way out into the hall.

Sara followed after casting one more ominous frown at the broken bed and then Kenan. “I wonder if the story will include a cannonball breaking through the bed,” she said.

Rory snorted and shut the door behind them.

Kenan ran a hand through his mussed hair. He probably looked ravished, too. Glancing down to his naked chest, he saw a small bruise from Tierney sucking on his skin. He looked at her. “Are ye well?”

She nodded and glanced around the room. “Did we do this?” She lifted her hand to the bed.

“I’ll help ye rebuild it,” he said. He would have smiled, but his mind was focused on the fury etching Cyrus’s face.

She shrugged as if light of heart. “I wanted to redecorate anyway, starting with getting rid of the hideously heavy drapes.”

He walked to her, and she lifted a finger, resting it lightly on the bruise on his chest. “I want to see what I’m doing.” She glanced up into his eyes. “In bed.”

“That was the plan when I pulled them down.” His hand snaked around her back, hugging her into him for a gentle kiss. Then they rested their foreheads together. This morning should have been lazy and sweet. She might have been shy in the light of day at first, but Kenan would have stirred her to a frenzy again. But morning light had brought stark reality thundering through their door.

She stepped slightly back. “I think ’tis safe to say, your family and friends don’t like me. Was the lady beside your sister…?”

“Grace Mackinnon.” He sighed. “Cyrus’s sister who I’m supposed to wed.”

She inhaled hard through her nose. “Shite.”

Shite was right. He rubbed his head, shutting his eyes as all the repercussions prickled through his now wide-awake mind.

“Your betrothed,” Tierney said, dropping her arms. “Catching you with a naked woman in a room that they obviously destroyed in passion.”

“I hadn’t yet signed the contract.” He opened his eyes.

Tierney stared at him. He could almost see inside her head as she thought over what he’d told her before. “So you…aren’t betrothed?”

He tipped his head. “Nay, not officially. But in Cyrus’s mind, and maybe Grace’s, I was.”

Tierney slid a hand down her cheek, her eyes staring at the door. “Your sister lied for us.”

“That she did,” Kenan said with a long inhale. “I’m sure she’ll make me pay for it somehow.”

Tierney’s slack face turned to him. “The foking Mackinnons will attack us, too,” she murmured.

It was a possibility. “I’ll try to smooth things with Cyrus, although his father would love any excuse to attack us.” His night with Tierney could truly lead to civil war on Skye. Bloody hell, how had he let this get so out of hand?

She grabbed his arm, her other hand squeezing the gathered front of the sheet so it wouldn’t fall. “I need the might of Clan Macdonald even more.”

“We need diplomacy more than might.”

“Powerful foes don’t listen to diplomacy,” she said, her words heavy with worry and turned away, striding to a trunk. The lid caught on hinges as she threw it open. She grabbed up and shook out a smock, dropping the sheet. It slid off her smooth pale skin, along her shapely hips like an artist revealing his masterpiece.

Kenan’s gaze stroked along her naked legs and up her spine where her hair hung midway. As she tossed a smock over her head to settle down her form, she truly looked like an angel, an avenging one at present, with her frown and snapping eyes.

He dressed quickly, watching her choose a gown out of the armoire. The length was too long, so she tied the petticoat high up under her breasts. “’Tis my mother’s,” she said. “I can’t walk down the hall in a sheet, and my gown from yesterday is,” she indicated the rumpled mess on the floor, “in need of brushing.”

Minutes later, he held the door open for her to precede him out of the disaster of a room into the dim corridor. Tierney wrestled with her wild hair, weaving it quickly into a braid that she tied with a leather strap.

They walked silently down the stairs that he barely remembered climbing last night, his mind completely on the sweet ball of fire pushing him against the curved wall and kissing him every few steps until he just lifted her up to charge ahead. Mo chreach, he’d lost all control, his whole bloody mind. And now he must convince Cyrus that he hadn’t meant to disrespect his sister. If he failed, their freshly formed brotherhood might dissolve into hatred again.

“Do you regret last night?” she asked without looking back at him.

The question had played through his mind, and he answered quickly without thinking. “That depends on if all of Skye goes to war over it.”

She said nothing and continued to descend, but he could feel the chill in the straightness of her back. He clasped her hand, pulling her to a stop.

“Tierney,” he said, bending his knees to catch her gaze. It was sad, and it pulled at his conscience. He didn’t want her to think he regretted loving her. “Last night was…explosive, like fire hitting gunpowder.”

She glanced away. “The bedchamber would agree.”

“Do ye agree?”

She sniffed a little laugh, but it held darkness. She looked at him. “Yes, explosive.”

He reached for her face, glad that she didn’t pull away, and slid his thumb across the smoothness there. “I don’t regret being with ye,” he whispered. “I regret that I hurt my friend and his sister.”

She gave the smallest nod, her features thoughtful.

His smile hardened into granite. “And if yer husband told ye that ye’re cold, he was an idiot to think it was because of ye.” His hand cupped her cheek as he leaned in. “Ye’re all softness, sweet honey, and fire, Tierney MacNicol.” He pressed a kiss to her lips and pulled back quickly before his cock rose, embarrassing them even further.

She smiled. “And I’m happy to learn you’re neither slobbery nor sour, Kenan Macdonald.” She took his hand, pulling him with her down the steps.

“Mama!” Maggie ran from Cora’s side toward Tierney, her little arms out, her slippers slapping against the floorboards.

Tierney picked her up in a hug. “I’m right here, sweet. You weren’t giving Cora any trouble, were you?”

“I thought you’d gone away again to find us more help.”

“Not without a kiss goodbye.” Tierney stroked the little girl’s hair, holding her as if she wished she could pull her into her body to protect her.

Kenan knew the feeling, and it had increased as he held Tierney last night. Wanting to keep her safe. ’Twas dangerous to his plans to unite Skye. Could he trade protecting the Isle of Skye for protecting one woman, even if she was the most interesting person, the most delicious woman, he’d ever met?

Cora looked right at Tierney and rubbed three fingers against her nose as if scratching it. But it looked like a signal, and the lift of her brows asked a question. Three?

Kenan leaned toward Tierney’s ear that was not pressed against Maggie. “If Cora’s asking if ye implemented plan three, the answer is a resounding aye.” He nodded at Cora himself, holding up three fingers, and the woman’s eyes opened.

“What does three fingers mean?” Sara asked, her words snapping. His sister took in every detail.

“That we need three cups of small ale,” Kenan said, indicating Maggie, Tierney, and himself.

His glance moved to the rest of the quiet hall. Cyrus and Grace stood reading an unfolded letter, as did Rory. They were the letters he’d written to be sent this morning.

Henry motioned to them. “They were addressed to them, so I gave them out.”

“Has the one for Tomas gone?” he asked.

Henry shook his head. “We thought Chief MacLeod could take it back with him and send a runner. We have few men to spare if Matheson returns quickly.”

Grace Mackinnon looked up from Cyrus’s letter, her eyes flashing with anger. The letter had been to Cyrus, not her, and didn’t discuss how she might feel over this change of plans.

“Lady Grace,” he said, “I apologize for the last-minute reversal of what yer brother had set in motion.”

She gave a tight smile. “I have many prospects, Chief Macdonald, and care little. Unfortunately for you, my father may not accept your apology.”

“Yer father knows about the proposed betrothal?” Kenan asked, turning his pinched brows toward Cyrus.

Cyrus huffed, lowering the letter, his face grim. “I didn’t know that ye’d run off with some…” He stopped himself, but his dark gaze went to Tierney who still held Maggie against her.

“Some brave, clever woman who’s determined to save her clan,” Tierney finished for him.

“From the Matheson Clan,” Cyrus said, waving the letter in the air. “Yer need to find protection for yer clan, so ye tricked Kenan into handfasting with ye.”

He made it sound like Kenan was a naive child who’d been led astray and made to promise allegiance for a kiss. He would rage that he wasn’t so easily tricked, but apparently, he was.

Kenan’s legs were braced in a battle stance, his arms crossed. “Clan MacNicol needs protection, as does our isle if Murdoc Matheson leads a campaign to take over Scorrybreac and Clan MacNicol.”

Cyrus cursed under his breath. “So ye just decided, without talking to Rory or me, to make an alliance with Clan MacNicol?” Both his arms rose as if encompassing the whole Scorrybreac area. “Where is Ash? He could have sent word that he needed our support.”

“Asher MacNicol has left Skye,” Tierney said. “I cannot find him to ask for help. And…” She stopped before she revealed her personal stake in all this, being tied to Ranulf and possibly losing her child if he sent her away.

“And what?” Cyrus asked.

“I got him drunk,” Tierney said. “And pleaded my case. I tricked him into handfasting with me.”

So instead of making him look foolish enough to be poisoned and shackled, he was just a drunk fool. Kenan wanted to roar his denial, but he kept himself rooted to the floor.

Henry frowned. “Drunk?” He looked at Sara and Rory. “Ye didn’t notice or question—”

“It was quick,” Sara cut in, “and…Rory was drunk, too, and I didn’t know about the understanding with Grace.”

“There was no official understanding yet,” Kenan said and looked at Cyrus. “Nothing signed, so there’s no contract broken between us.”

Cyrus’s gaze didn’t soften. “I sent word to our father that ye and Grace were betrothed when Grace and then ye seemed amendable. Father was planning an attack on Dunscaith while it lay in ruins and ye were at the wedding, and I wanted to cut him off before he proceeded.”

Well, hell . Kenan’s hand caught the back of his neck. “Ye could have mentioned that.”

“I got word the night after the wedding, and I couldn’t get ye to stand still long enough to tell ye,” Cyrus said and flashed angry eyes at Tierney. “Ye were determined to find out why a lass would try to steal yer glider contraption.”

What would Kenan have done if he’d had the information, the threat of attack? He’d have ridden to Dunscaith before Tierney could drug him. He’d be officially betrothed to Grace. Instead of eliciting regret, the thought made his gut sour.

“I’m no longer amenable to wedding,” Grace said, staring at Kenan with the full force of her condemnation. “You are a fool who gets drunk enough to handfast with a stranger in some foolish need to save her and her little, dismal clan.” Grace glanced at her brother. “I’ll wait outside for us to depart.” She stalked through the hall, her boot heels clipping along.

Kenan walked closer to Cyrus. “Daingead, Cyrus, why did ye bring her?”

Cyrus’s face was tight with fury. “She was worried about ye when we found evidence of ye being taken. When Grace makes up her mind, only a biblical flood or pestilence could sway her.”

“Lord,” Kenan said, rubbing a hand down over his jaw. “I’m sorry I hurt her pride.”

“How about yer own pride?” Cyrus said, without softening. “Ye spoke with passion about bringing Skye together, and yet ye jeopardize everything by making an enemy of my father and sister. Ye led me to believe ye would join with Grace to create an alliance, but ye let that float away on a drunk man’s lust and need to play the gallant knight.”

Every muscle in Kenan contracted as shame infused him. He felt the prickle of it race over his skin, making him want to scratch it away. But he deserved this. He’d let Tierney trick him. Even if he hadn’t gotten drunk, he’d still followed her out on the moor and eaten her bloody tart.

Cyrus held up his palm that showed the four scars to match the ones on Kenan, Rory, and Asher’s palms. They had formed a brotherhood to escape Carlisle Dungeon built on a foundation of mutual trust and desire to bring all their clans together to strengthen Scotland.

“I still desire that,” Kenan said, his voice gruff. He glanced at Rory. Did he think Kenan had dropped the cause? But Rory’s watchful eyes gave nothing of his thoughts away.

Kenan looked back into Cyrus’s bitter face. “First and foremost, we are still friends. I made a mistake but still strive to join the clans on Skye.”

Cyrus snorted. “I disagree on both counts.”

Tierney stepped up to Cyrus. Her younger brother had taken Maggie from her, and the little girl was wrestling with her twelve-year-old uncle to let her down.

“I am the trickster and used every bit of myself to coerce Kenan.” She poked Cyrus’s chest. “And if I hadn’t, Clan Matheson would be taking over MacNicol territory on Skye. Ranulf Matheson was waiting here when we arrived, ready to use my daughter,” she threw an arm out toward Maggie, “to force me to wed him so he could steal Scorrybreac. You would have another powerful clan to battle. Before you throw stones at Kenan because of your ruined plans, keep in mind I am the one who forced his hand.”

Sara shook her head. “My brother doesn’t agree to anything he doesn’t want, even if drunk.”

Tierney looked over her shoulder at Sara. “He might if he’s been—”

“I decided that her need was great,” Kenan said, overriding whatever embarrassing thing Tierney was going to reveal. Like that he’d allowed himself to be shackled by two lasses and a lad of twelve. “It will not do to let Ranulf Matheson invade and take over Scorrybreac.”

“Ye were married to a Macqueen, weren’t ye?” Rory asked her. “Will they not send warriors to help deter the Mathesons?”

“I sent word to them first,” Tierney said, “asking for assistance when my parents didn’t return from sea after a month of no word. They ignored my plea for help.”

Sara looked horrified. “But you have a child by Wallace Macqueen, their deceased chief.”

“Maggie is a lass, not a lad,” Gabriel said, “and their new chief wants nothing to do with us.” He held tightly to his niece’s hand.

“They didn’t exactly warm to me, either,” Tierney said.

Kenan could imagine the condemnation she must have stirred up there, a bride shaving her head after the wedding night.

“Tierney,” Henry said, his tone full of admonishment as if she were his daughter whom he held so poorly. “Yer father thought ye should wed Ranulf Matheson in an honorable alliance. And yet ye’ve caused all this strife.” He waved his hands between Kenan and Cyrus.

Tierney stood proud, her eyes narrowing as her face flushed red. “I let my father use me once for an alliance, and apart from Maggie, nothing good came from it. I will not be traded like a broodmare again. Father wrote a clause into the Matheson betrothal contract, giving me a way out if I could find other help for our clan. So I did.”

“But now ye’ve caused more trouble,” Henry said, indicating Cyrus. “Are ye above a queen to refuse an alliance to save yer people?” Henry continued with a wave of self-righteous zest. “If ye’d thought of yer clan before yerself, yer daughter before—”

“One abusive marriage is too much for any woman to endure,” Kenan said, “let alone two marriages.” His voice boomed out, making Tierney’s white dog bark once and move to stand before Maggie. Maggie threw her thin arms around the dog’s neck.

“Tierney never consented to a Matheson betrothal, so it wasn’t real.” He pointed his finger at Henry. “And she courageously sought to put an end to it with me. Hold yer tongue or see it permanently held by me.” His hand fisted, and he yanked his hand as if demonstrating how he’d violently remove Henry’s tongue.

The man’s eyes bulged, his lips closing tightly. No one in the room said anything for a moment as if waiting to see what would happen next. Kenan let his gaze move from Henry to Rory and Sara, to Cyrus. “Now, if we can rid ourselves of hurt pride and sit down, we can figure out the best course of action to keep the Matheson Clan from invading our isle through Scorrybreac and Clan Mackinnon from attacking Dunscaith.”

Cyrus crossed his arms over his chest, not softened at all. “I am taking Grace home and, on the way, will try to convince her not to influence our father to take up his sword against the Macdonalds and MacLeods.” He turned and strode toward the door.

Kenan took three long strides and caught up to him, his hand going to his shoulder to stop him. “Cy.”

Cyrus stopped, but his face was just as hard when he turned to Kenan. “I truly didn’t mean to hurt Grace or ruin yer plans,” Kenan said. “A marriage alliance like the one made between Rory and Sara doesn’t always work. There must be genuine regard there to bring peace, and I’m not sure Grace and I would have that.”

Cyrus exhaled. “’Tis not I who will rage against ye. My father is chief, and his army has been brought up on stories of Macdonald crimes, just like I was.”

“I was raised hearing Mackinnon crimes as well,” Kenan said, “but we are working beyond that, strengthening our isle and country.”

Cyrus stared hard into Kenan’s eyes. “One of those crimes was the killing of my older brother, his heir, by a Macdonald sword.”

“Patrick died of a taint and fever.”

“From the sword strike,” Cyrus said, shaking his head. “My father still blames Clan Macdonald. Grace is his pride and joy. I must convince her that this wasn’t another crime against our clan. I’ll send ye word.” He turned back to the door and strode out.

“Bloody hell,” Kenan murmured.

Had he truly just started a civil war on Skye?