Page 20 of The Highlander’s Fallen Angel (Brotherhood of Solway Moss #2)

“It is not light that we need, but fire; it is not the gentle shower, but thunder. We need the storm, the whirlwind, and the earthquake.”

Frederick Douglass – American Social Reformer, 1818–1895

Tierney rode toward battle. She shouldn’t be smiling, but it was difficult to keep the memories of her nighttime adventures with Kenan from spilling across her lips. I am not cold, not an ice queen . At least not with Kenan Macdonald.

He’d called her beautiful more than once, his words full of authentic admiration. She marveled at the lightness filling her, as if happiness was possible in this life.

She peered ahead where Kenan rode next to Rory MacLeod. Henry and Jacob rode behind them, followed by John and Simon Sutherland. Once the two elderly advisors found out that Doris and Edith were accompanying Kenan’s twin sisters to Morag’s to help guard them and Morag’s crows, they’d ordered their own mounts saddled. They would protect the ladies.

Tierney rode several rows back with Sara, Eliza, and Eleri, letting their chatter wash over her like the rustle of leaves, soothing and musical. Sara had insisted on accompanying them so she could see how her childhood home, Dunsciath Castle, was progressing as it was rebuilt. She also wore one of the lighter swords that Gerard had built for the women and older children.

The smell of mud and fresh grass tangled with the breeze after the rain the night before. Tierney preferred the slight sprinkle of mud on her skirts to the clouds of dust a traveling army could scatter. She could have worn her trousers, but she’d felt prettier in the simple blue gown. It was something she hadn’t cared about for a long time.

As Henry approached the cottage where Morag stood, swathed in flowing green robes, patterned with stitched rose-hued flowers, she raised her hand as if pretending to throw a handful of mica dust. Henry squeaked, maneuvering to the other side of the path. He made the sign of the cross before his chest. Morag laughed, pushing her long, gray braid off her shoulder to settle down her straight back. She turned to Tierney, beckoning her to break from the line. She followed Sara and the twins and Doris and Edith toward Morag. The two elderly ladies stared curiously at the crows along the rooftops.

“The devil’s birds?” Edith asked.

John stopped, dismounting awkwardly with one hand. “She’s always had them.”

“Killed her first husband for striking her,” Simon added, dismounting.

Morag wore a tolerant smile. “They are my army who protects innocents, especially when I am absent.”

“They will pluck eyes right out,” Simon said. “But not this one.” He pointed to the patch he wore over his missing eye. “This one was a battle wound.”

“Damn Macdonald sliced down it,” John said. “Blood pouring down his face, soft eye matter—”

“The details are best kept being regaled around the fire at Samhain,” Sara said with a sharp look.

Doris and Edith stared at the men as if envisioning the slaughter, their eyes wider and almost respectful.

Simon patted his chest. “Well, ’twas gruesome, but I survived.”

“Eleri and I will take good care of your crows, Aunt Morag,” Eliza said, cutting the man off. She gave the regal woman a hug. Morag’s strong features softened into a kind grin as she hugged back.

“A number may follow me,” Morag said, “and the rest can take care of themselves.”

“I will use your stretching contraption while you’re away,” Eleri said, dismounting. Eleri’s spine had been curved at birth, and Morag had shown her exercises to strengthen the muscles to stabilize it and reduce pain. “It helps me with my poses.”

“Excellent, my dears,” Morag said. She glanced at Kenan and pointed to two large satchels. “These must accompany me.”

Kenan shook his head. “We don’t pack but one set of clothing when we travel on campaign.”

His aunt flapped her hand at the leather bags. “They are my weapons and poisons, things we can use. They will all accompany us, every single one of them.” She didn’t wait for agreement but turned, the twins following her into the cottage. Doris and Edith glanced at each other and proceeded after them. Simon and John followed.

Would the four elderly people protect Eleri and Eliza, or would the twins end up taking care of the elderly?

“We should have one of your warriors remain with them,” Sara said, speaking Tierney’s concern aloud. “Rory?”

“I’ve already asked two remaining MacLeod warriors to arrive here within the hour after we move through,” Rory said. “They will send John and Simon back to Dunvegan and camp out here to guard the ladies.”

Sara smiled, her eyes full of respect for her husband. Could Tierney ever feel content tied to another man? Not just any man. Could she be content with Kenan? Marry him?

Not that he’d asked her. But if he did, would she?

The idea tightened her chest, and she rubbed her wrist that had been bruised so many times by Wallace’s grip.

“Have the men continue,” Kenan said. He had taken charge of the moving armies even though most of them were MacLeods and they were rescuing MacNicols. But Rory’s respect for him had transferred to his armies. Gabriel had remained behind with Cora to guard Maggie inside Dunvegan with its inaccessible sea moat.

“Lady Tierney,” Morag called from the cottage door. “I would see you here for a moment.”

Tierney swung her leg over Fleet’s backside and dismounted as if she wore trousers, her petticoats catching air. They belled out around her, and she smoothed them. Kenan’s gaze followed her, and she passed a grin to him while keeping her face forward.

Morag clasped her hand, pulling her to the side of the cottage. There was such a cacophony of voices inside as the elderly ladies decided where they would all sleep and what to do with their horses if there were only two stalls, that Morag rolled her eyes. “Let them figure all that out,” she said. “We have more important matters to discuss.” She pulled something out of one of her satchels. “This is for you to wear when we enter Eilean Donan Castle.”

Tierney’s brows rose, and she glanced around to see if anyone had heard. “We are entering the castle?”

Morag stared hard into her eyes. “They won’t expect you and a little old woman sneaking in, will they?”

“Kenan wants me to stay on the ship.”

Morag squinted at her. “And what do you want?”

Tierney glanced at the armies walking by, some pulling supplies of food and cannonballs. “I think a lot of blood could be shed if we attack outright.”

Morag nodded. “Men like to go in blasting because they have strength. They are raised to respect muscle and power and use the agility they’ve practiced if things go awry. Women use their cleverness from the start. Men are ready for men to attack but not for women to use their innate power.”

Tierney looked down at the oddly shaped lump under the wrapped linen. “This will help me use my power?”

Morag smiled and patted the item that felt soft and heavy like something made of leather. “This will be your armor.”

…

Kenan inhaled as they broke through the forest line, his gaze riding ahead down the green slope to the village before Dunscaith Castle, or what used to be Dunscaith Castle. Right now, it was only a shell of what it once was.

“Your home?” Tierney asked. Since that morning when they left the overnight camp, she’d ridden upfront with him, leaving Rory to ride next to Sara behind them.

“Aye.” He cleared his throat, trying to rid his voice of any trace of anguish. “’Tis not currently at its proudest.” Dunscaith was the most vulnerable it had ever been. Burned from within, all four stories rendered to ash. Cyrus’s father, Chief Hamish Mackinnon, could swarm in, attacking his people and taking everything.

“Show me,” she said and pressed her horse forward.

For a heartbeat, Kenan watched her fly away from him, her blond hair slipping from the leather thong with which she held it back. The wind lifted the silky mass like a flag, pointing back at him, drawing his loyalty.

“Siuthad!” Kenan called and leaned forward. Freya shot off after Tierney.

They slowed as they reached the path that wound through the thatched-roofed cottages making up the broad village. Flowers accented stoops and windowsills, and the thatching was clean and full. Whatever Dunscaith Castle had suffered, his village was sturdy and whole. Right now, anyway. If the Mackinnons rode through with torches, those roofs would burn.

People came out of their homes, the women waving, and the children running alongside. A few picked flowers before their scolding mothers shooed them away. They ran forward to hand them to Kenan. He leaned down to take them.

“Chief Macdonald has returned!”

“Hail Kenan Macdonald!”

“Our chief is here!”

“All is well!”

Various proclamations rose from both sides as they walked their horses through the streets leading toward the open gates of the hulking castle. Kenan sat straight and proud, the bunch of flowers before him, even though guilt and concern made his shoulders want to round forward. If he hadn’t met Tierney, saved her, been tricked by her, and then loved her body so well it felt imprinted on his own…

If he hadn’t done all that, he’d be betrothed to Grace Mackinnon with the force of the Mackinnon Clan ready to help rebuild Dunscaith and protect his people until Kenan had his defenses back in place.

Did his people think Tierney was Grace? Word would soon reach them that she was no savior, bringing over a thousand warriors to protect them. Instead, she represented their vulnerability, the very symbol that heralded an attack by those thousand Mackinnon warriors.

Kenan continued forward, his face turned to the blackened stone walls of Dunscaith Castle. He glanced back at Tierney, who also held picked flowers before her. Her face was stoney, as if she’d realized what her plan to save Clan MacNicol meant to these people.

Their horses clip-clopped into the bailey. The tang of damp ash carried on the breeze, but there was also the smell of freshly hewed planks. The pounding of a mallet against nails came from somewhere deep inside. Kenan knew he must focus on the revival and not the death of the castle, but ’twas difficult not to remember the flames and destruction.

He dismounted and walked around to Tierney who still sat upon Fleet. “Wish to see the rebirth of a castle?” he asked.

She looked down at him, and he saw a glimmer in her eyes as if tears sat there. “Your people need you,” she said. They were words he had spoken to her, but it had taken the sight and smell of the devastation for her to truly understand.

Kenan reached for her waist, his hands wrapping around where they had last night, and lifted her down. “There is need across the whole isle, Tierney, but if we come together to unify, our isle will be strong against any outside foes.”

Her gaze remained on the charred walls. “Like the Matheson Clan?”

“Like England.”

She looked at him. “How can we stand against England when we stand against other clans in our own country?”

“Exactly.” This was the terrible problem Kenan had discussed with Rory, Cyrus, and Asher while they survived in Carlisle Dungeon all those months. The clans of Scotland were often separated by the mountainous terrain and sea, making it difficult for the country to unify. With the young Queen Mary Stewart being raised in France, and James Hamilton holding tooth and nail onto the regency with Mary’s mother, Marie de Guise, attempting to take over, there was little effort in trying to unite the Scottish people. A fractured country would always crumble under the solidified heel of its enemy.

Kenan took her hand. “We make alliances and support each other.”

“Against other Scottish clans.”

“Until they agree to unite.”

She scoffed, rubbing her nose as if it itched from a forbidden tear. “It seems impossible.”

“I take one step at a time, one clan at a time.”

“Like marrying Grace Mackinnon.” Tierney’s words came as a statement, not a question. He heard an underlying of hurt there.

Kenan stepped before her, catching her face with one palm so that she met his eyes. “I am not marrying Grace.”

“The Mackinnons would support Clan Macdonald then,” she said, “instead of warring against you.”

“I doubt she’d consider me now.”

“She would unless she’s a fool.”

“I will not marry someone I do not wish to share a bed with.”

Tierney closed her eyes for a moment and then looked pointedly at him. “Women have been made to share beds with unwanted partners for thousands of years.”

He leaned closer to her. “Which has been wrong for thousands of years. It hasn’t ended war. It hasn’t even united countries when the husband and wife are not suited. Grace and I are not suited.”

“How do you know that?”

Frustration squeezed him, and he dropped his hand but didn’t move back. “My cock doesn’t even twitch when I think of her.”

Tierney narrowed her eyes. “Haven’t you been told not to listen to your cock when making important decisions?”

Of course, he’d been told that, and he never had before. “How about my heart, then?” he asked, realizing how foolish he sounded but going with the truth anyway. “Or my head. I can’t get ye from my mind, Tierney. And my head and heart, and possibly my cock, too, are all in agreement that I will only bring war on my people if I wed Grace and we end up despising each other.”

“You may grow to love her.”

“Impossible.”

Her voice rose, filling the bailey. “Very possible with her glossy brown curls and curvy body and one thousand warriors.”

She also brought thirty thousand crowns and twenty head of Highland cattle. But that didn’t matter. “For some reason, I prefer a blond-haired fallen angel and her twenty warriors, including two old women with short swords.” His words met her own in volume.

Her face tensed with pained anger, and she blinked as if tears threatened. “Then you are a fool, Kenan Macdonald.”

Someone behind him cleared his throat, and Kenan turned to see Tomas, his second in command, standing just inside the castle. “The men would like to show ye the progress on the Great Hall. After ye’re…uh…done.” He scratched his head.

“We are done,” Kenan said and traipsed forward. The weight of anger and obligation lay heavily on Kenan’s shoulders. Tierney, willing and eager to follow all his suggestions in bed, wouldn’t even consider his plans involving her when they were fully dressed—at least not plans involving her being tied to him legally.

When he reached the archway, he looked back to beckon her to follow for the tour, but she’d turned away. She jammed her foot in Fleet’s stirrup and rose into her saddle with graceful ease and guided her horse out of the bailey.

He wanted to call after her, but he’d already been called a fool loud enough for everyone to hear. He didn’t need to prove the label true.