Page 22 of The Highlander’s Fallen Angel (Brotherhood of Solway Moss #2)

“When you see something that is not right, not fair, not just…do something about it. Say something. Have the courage. Have the backbone. Get in the way. Walk with the wind.”

John Lewis – American Politician, 1940–2020

“He will not negotiate.”

Tierney repeated her view from her spot on the bottom of the Birlinn ship as the men rowed alongside the dock at the shore of Loch Duich. “He will willingly release my parents if I surrender.”

Kenan glanced down where she and Morag lay flat, staring up at the naked mast, its sail lowered as they rowed. “We will try diplomacy first while ye release the crew. I don’t want ye anywhere near Ranulf.”

“Maybe we should surrender Henry Macqueen in exchange,” Rory said, making the man glare at him.

“I have no value to the Mathesons,” Henry said.

“And yet ye demanded to come with us,” Cyrus said, his tone low.

Henry drew himself up. “I can hold a sword, and I represent the current chief Gabriel as his regent.”

“Bloody hell, Henry, if anyone is Gabriel’s regent, ’tis I,” Tierney said and nearly sat up, but Morag stilled her with a hand on her arm. They were arriving covertly so Murdoc’s warriors at the dock couldn’t report that two women were part of Kenan’s party.

“Diplomacy first,” Kenan said and crouched down next to Tierney as if being closer to her would make her understand. “We will explain how they will enrage three powerful clans making up most of Skye.”

“Say four,” Cyrus said with a gusty exhale. “I’ll convince Father somehow to support ye.”

Rory clamped his hand down on Cyrus’s shoulder in a silent show of gratitude.

“And what if they don’t let you leave Eilean Donan?” Tierney asked from her hidden position.

“Diplomacy and then battle,” Kenan said, straightening as they neared shore. If they went in with swords drawn, there was no hope of change to the hostility between the clans of Scotland.

The Birlinn ship bumped along the dock, and Kenan stepped out. Rory, Cyrus, Henry, and three other warriors followed him: Tomas, Jok, and one of Cyrus’s men, Bartholomew. The deep-water dock was long with room for several galleons.

“That’s the Rosemary ,” Henry said, shaking his head. “Chief Douglas’s ship. And here we mourned as if the sea had taken it and all aboard.”

Kenan looked at the top of the Birlinn’s mast where four crows blended into the shadows, catching a ride instead of flying. No one else seemed to notice them. He looked down at his aunt, and she smiled softly but didn’t say a word. They were going to release the men from the cave that Tomas had discovered. The task had to be big enough to keep Tierney occupied but far away from Ranulf’s grasp.

“If they have the ship, they have the people,” Rory said.

“And the desire to take Scorrybreac and move onto Skye,” Cyrus said. The proof of the jeopardy seemed to help Cyrus see the truth in Tierney’s concern.

“State yer business,” a man with a sword strapped to his hip said, striding toward them. Three burly Highlanders followed him.

“I am Chief Kenan Macdonald of Sleat.”

“I am Chief Rory MacLeod, the Lion of Skye.”

“I am Cyrus Mackinnon…Chief Cyrus Mackinnon of Dun Haakon.”

“And I am Henry Macqueen, regent for the MacNicol chief.”

Kenan stepped forward. “And we are here to discuss Scorrybreac and the threats made by Chief Murdoc of Clan Matheson.”

A moment sat before them, and Kenan kept the man’s stare. Finally, the guard nodded and turned. “Follow me. Geoff, run ahead and inform the chief that he has visitors.”

Kenan kept his gaze from moving back to the Birlinn ship two Macdonalds guarded. After they boarded the ferries to enter the seawater-surrounded castle, Morag and Tierney would float out of it like wraiths in the night. His aunt swore she would keep Tierney safe as they worked their way to the men housed in a garrison cell apart from the castle. Tomas had brought information back about the guarded cave. Jacob, the second scout, remained in the village, prepared to jump in to fight if Kenan and his men weren’t allowed to disembark at the dock.

They strode briskly through the dark street leading to the ferries that took people over to the isle where Eilean Donan Castle sat. From the shadows between two cottages, Jacob Tanner nodded to him before he turned and ran off into the darkness to meet up with Tierney and Morag.

Keep her safe. Kenan had made the man swear this. The infatuated youth would keep Tierney safer than he would keep himself.

Kenan turned to focus on the hulking shadow of Eilean Donan Castle. Just like Dunvegan, the castle sat on a little island off the coast, so a natural seawater mote surrounded it. The only way in or out was over water. Unlike Dunvegan, though, the island was large, allowing for a kitchen garden, an orchard, and a treeless meadow before the bailey where invaders could be shot. The keep was three stories tall, its walls fourteen feet thick in some places. A poorly kept curtain wall surrounded part of it but had turned to rubble in other places.

’Twas a MacKenzie holding, but the old Matheson chief had sworn to protect it. His son, Murdoc, had apparently taken up the post while enjoying living in the fortress as if he were the rightful owner.

As they walked through the quiet village, several men came out from cottages to follow behind Kenan’s group. Their party of seven was now outnumbered. Would Murdoc Matheson attempt to take all three chiefs and a regent hostage because of his arrogant belief that their clans would not act without their leaders?

Kenan’s hand curled around the hilt of his sheathed sword. So far, they hadn’t been made to surrender them. They stopped at the set of three ferries, each with a Matheson poleman tasked to take visitors across.

“The ferry only fits the three chiefs and MacNicol regent,” the leader of the guards said, “along with us.”

“Then ye will take the next ferry,” Cyrus said. As if his word was final, the warriors from the Isle of Skye surged onto the ferry.

The poleman stepped off, letting two Matheson guards onto the ferry in his place. “If I wasn’t under orders…” one of the guards said, narrowing his eyes at Cyrus. He left his threat hanging.

Cyrus shrugged, tilting his head in question. “Ye’d…introduce me to yer sister?”

Kenan stepped in front of Cyrus before the guard could shove him into the sea. “He’s a bit peevish over having to leave our bonny isle,” Kenan said. “Last time he was off it, King Henry threw him in a hole for eighteen months.”

The guard snorted. “One of those willing to sign the English king’s agreement to turn yer back on yer own country.”

Cyrus looked around Kenan’s shoulder, and Kenan could hear the sneer in his voice. “Nay, I slit a guard’s throat with a sharp rock and left a pile of shite for King Henry after wiping my arse with his agreement.”

Kenan resisted rolling his eyes, which would take all the venom out of Cyrus’s words, and he wouldn’t do that to his friend even if he was lying. There had been killing, but none of them had enough food in them after eighteen months in Carlisle Dungeon to leave a decent shite for King Henry.

The other Matheson guard stifled a chuckle. Then only the lapping of the water made noise as they were poled across the watery gap by one of the guards. Torches flickered at the landing, and they disembarked. Kenan, and the others, strode across trampled grasses toward the bailey before the keep.

Three men walked out from the bailey with guards flanking them with lit torches. As the torchlight shone across them, Kenan inhaled, pushing past the boulder now in his chest. He paused, letting them finish walking toward him across the small island. He knew Ranulf and assumed the balding man next to him was Murdoc, but it was the third man that made Kenan release his breath in a huff.

“A declaration of war and a family reunion.” Gilbert Macdonald grinned at Kenan. “Welcome to Eilean Donan, Brother.”

…

Tierney kept the hood of her cloak pulled low over her forehead as she walked along the shoreline south of the castle. Two guards stood watch at a darkened set of bars across the mouth of a cave. Tomas had discovered from one drunken villager that it was the dungeon for the MacNicol crew.

Tierney’s boots crunched on the broken shells and gravel as she walked up the path by herself. “Pardon me,” she said and lowered her hood, exposing her blond hair. “I am looking for Ranulf Matheson. He sent for me.”

The two guards, burly men, glanced at each other and then back to her.

“Well, now, little lass, we can take ye up to the castle,” one said. He raked his stout fingers through his unkempt beard, making it stick out unevenly.

“But ye have to give us each a kiss,” the second guard said, rubbing his lips that seemed to have bits of food still attached.

She smiled sweetly. “I would rather be strapped naked to an ant mound.”

They frowned almost in unison. “I can help with the stripping ye naked part,” the bearded guard said.

“A little lass like ye wandering all alone in the night,” the second man said. His hand slid down the front of his wrap as if checking that he still had a jack.

Had she hooked them enough? She took a step back, but they didn’t follow. The first guard glanced at the bars where she saw several faces peering out. They must be MacNicols, but they didn’t say anything to give her away. “I suppose I’ll have to find Ranulf by myself,” she said.

The second guard looked at the bearded man. “Ranulf owes me a favor, and he doesn’t mind sharing.” He leered back at her, lifting his wrap to show his erect jack. “I’ll take ye to him after we have a little fun first, lassie.”

Holy Joan! At least one of them was a predictable savage. The other one remained near the barred entrance and could light the warning fire at his shoulder, sounding the alarm that something was amiss. She needed to get them both away from it.

“I am Lady Tierney MacNicol,” she said and dropped her cloak. She wore her trousers and tunic over the thick leather armor Morag had given her. It fit like a second skin under her clothes, like stays except that it swooped under and between her legs, protecting her from lusty bastards like these guards.

The man kept walking toward her, and the second one came, too. “Lady Tierney? Cane, ye best leave her be. She’s to be his wife.”

That’s it, follow me. Tierney turned and ran farther up the dark path that curved around the rock. When she looked over her shoulder, the one named Cane still had his hand on his jack like it was a sword to slay her.

As he ran after her, Jacob stepped out of the shadows and hit the bearded guard by the cave’s entrance with a rock to the head. He dropped without a word, so Cane kept running after her.

Tierney reached Morag, who strode past her wearing a set of white gloves. Her hood dropped back, revealing her wild, loose hair and bared teeth. Cane stopped short in surprise, and Morag reached forward, grabbing hold of his jack in a solid grip.

Cane yelled as the burning ointment Morag had applied to her glove soaked into the tender skin of his jack. But Jacob threw a gag over his head, catching it in his mouth and tying it tight before throwing a sack over his head. Within minutes, Cane was tied to a chair with his jack out and burning next to the iron gate over the cave entrance, his fellow guard tied and unconscious in a more dignified position next to him.

Jacob found the key, handing it to Tierney. “For ye. Let yer men free.” For all his annoying ways, Jacob understood her. Did Kenan? If he thought she’d sit on the ship waiting to ring the bloody bell, he did not.

“Lady Tierney,” a man called, his dirt-covered face between the bars.

“Mathew,” she said, keeping her voice strong even as she blinked against the tears swelling in her eyes. “I’d thought you and the others were lost to the sea.”

“Nay,” another voice said, and a face appeared a couple bars over. “Damn Mathesons tricked yer father, milady.”

“Darby,” she said, reaching through to squeeze his hand.

“Aye, milady. Ranulf said that since ye weren’t on the ship, we were all forfeit.”

Guilt itched up inside her chest. “Well, I’m here now to get you out.”

“Ye’ve always been the clever lady,” Mathew said. Her heart swelled at the compliment.

She shoved the iron key into the heavy lock and used both hands to turn it. “Is everyone from the Rosemary in here?”

“All ’cept yer parents,” Mathew said.

She swung the iron gate wide, and Jacob leaned in with a torch to light the cave. Twenty sets of eyes blinked back. They’d been living in filth and cold for nearly two months.

“Everyone alive?” Jacob asked.

“Aye,” Darby said, “although some are poorly.”

A young warrior named Wendall bobbed his head to her. “Good to see ye.”

“I sent word to your mum,” Tierney said, “as soon as we heard the crew was alive.”

Wendell had just started working on the ship and was barely old enough to grow a scraggly beard. He smiled. “Thank ye, milady. I worried about her with Da gone.”

“Jacob,” Tierney said, “see that these men get onto the Tempest .” She placed her hand on Wendell’s narrow shoulder. “With food and blankets.”

“Blankets without rats chewing on us,” Wendell said, his toothy grin almost skeletal in the dark.

“Without rats,” Tierney said and ignored the shiver that ran through her.

Jacob leaned toward her ear. “Ye’re coming, too, aren’t ye?”

Tierney bobbed her head in greeting to the men emerging silently from the cave, their clothes and faces filthy but their smiles wide with relief. “Mistress Morag and I need to ensure the three chiefs of Skye aren’t murdered.” Saying the words, her heart felt too low in her stomach. Kenan and Rory might die because of her.

“Ye and the crone?” Jacob asked, his eyes wide. “How will that help?”

Tierney tipped her head to the hooded and gagged guard sitting against the outer cave wall with his deflated jack out. “The crone knows how to handle scoundrels.”

He leaned closer to her, his words nearly spitting out his whisper. “What? She’ll just go into Eilean Donan grabbing cocks with a poisoned glove?”

“You say that like ’tis a bad idea when it obviously worked.” She flapped a hand at Cane, who grunted as men kicked him as they passed by.

“I would spit on ye, ye bastard,” an older shipman said, “but I won’t waste what little water we’ve been able to lick off the bars on ye.”

She leaned closer to the assaulting guard. “Perhaps you should think better about tormenting those you guard and attacking women with that sorry jack of yours.” She stood back, and Mathew, being the last to leave the cave, stomped down hard on the man’s exposed groin. Cane doubled over, rolling to the side in anguish.

Jacob lifted the unconscious man, setting him in the cave. Then he and Mathew picked up Cane, putting him inside, too. Tierney relocked the cell and threw the key into the dense bushes growing farther out from the rockface.

Morag stood along the path, handing out bladders of drink to the hostages. The men guzzled, passing them around to each other. Two held a third man between them, another helping him drink.

“Where did you get those?” Tierney asked her.

“I carried them under my cloak.” She pulled it aside to show a hanging basket attached to a thick strap around her neck.

“I could have helped,” Tierney said.

She waved a hand. “It helped me walk like an old woman.” She stretched her back, the poisoned glove off and tossed aside.

“Lead them back to the Birlinn ship to go to the Tempest ,” Tierney said to Jacob.

He grabbed her arm. “I can’t leave ye here. Kenan thinks I’m staying to help, and ye’re going back to the ship.”

Kenan wanted her to stay protected while he jeopardized himself and his two friends, along with three clansmen from Skye. But this was her tangle, and she must help where she could.

“The bard told me about a way in through the orchard on the north side. I won’t just sit on the ship waiting for them to return.”

Jacob rubbed his hair hard as if his brain itched. “I will stay here with ye. Keep ye safe.”

She squeezed his arm. “You always have, Jacob, as much as you could. You were the only one who helped me…with Wallace.” His eyes widened, and she nodded. “I know. Thank you.” She continued before he could respond. “But I need you now to get these men back to the ship. Their lives depend on you, Jacob.”

“Kenan will rage when he realizes ye didn’t go with them.”

“Kenan controls his rage, and…I left him a note,” she said.

Jacob exhaled. “Bloody hell, Tier.”

“’Tis in a poem in case someone intercepts it.”