Page 25 of The Highlander’s Fallen Angel (Brotherhood of Solway Moss #2)

“Be a mirror, absorb everything around you and still remain the same.”

Leonardo da Vinci – Italian artist and scientist, 1452–1519

Tierney had never seen her parents naked. They were not the naked, frolicking in the summer flowers and swimming in the loch type of people. She had even heard the maids talk about how her mother took baths while wearing her smock, sliding the soap underneath. The only evidence that her parents had ever taken off their clothes with another person was that they’d created Gabriel and herself.

But here they were, in their enemy’s lair. Her father all pale and hairy with a bulging stomach and knobby knees and her mother flushing red and trying to pull the blanket up to her chin. “What happened to your clothing? Your shoes?” Tierney asked, fury beginning to burn away her surprise. She looked at her mother. “Did someone…attack you?”

She shook her head and looked at Tierney’s father, Douglas. “We were…locked in here.” She turned back to Tierney when her father didn’t jump in with explanations. “To get food, they made us remove all our clothing. They said it was so we wouldn’t dare try to escape.”

“It was to humiliate us,” Douglas said, his tone hard. “But it also has the added security of us not trying to break out of our room.”

Tierney untied the cloak at her throat and pulled it off. “Put this on.” She handed it to her mother. “Wait.” Tierney untied the bulging pocket hooked underneath. “Now go put it on.”

“They will take it away,” Fannie said.

Tierney blinked at her parents, her mouth slack with surprise. “I thought it was clear I’m rescuing you,” Tierney said. Both her parents stared at her. “Is that so surprising? I have already released the crew from the cave.”

Fannie’s hand went to her mouth. “They’re still alive. Thank God.”

“How are ye here? Rescuing us?” her father asked, still holding the pillow before his groin. “Dressed like…” He didn’t finish. Perhaps because Tierney was yanking her tunic over her head.

“Put this on,” she said, tossing the tunic to him and pulled the knot on her trousers. “And these. I have no desire for nightmares that involve seeing my father’s…” She flapped a hand at the pillow before him.

“What in heaven is that you’re wearing?” Fannie asked, fastening the cape down her front.

Tierney glanced down, her thighs feeling the chill. She wore stockings gartered just below her knees with low-cut boots on her feet. Her skin was bare up to the joint between her legs and hips where Morag’s armor hugged her hips, torso, and chest, keeping her breasts covered. The armor was snug, hugging her and leaving no hill or valley hidden.

“’Tis armor made from leather.”

“’Tis scandalous,” her father said.

“Says the naked man.” Tierney tapped the lock at her pelvis. “I’m locked up tight.” She fingered the one snug between her breasts. “No man can get it off without the key, and the key is not here. Therefore, I am safe from any scandalous attack.”

Her parents stared at her, and she looked down to make sure the snug suit still covered all her bits. Yes, everything was covered. “I think all women should have one.”

With the tunic down to his knees, Douglas dropped the pillow and shoved his spindly legs into the trousers. They wouldn’t close over his gut, and he had to tie them, leaving the flesh of his lower abdomen exposed, which he covered with the long tunic.

Tierney slipped off her boots, handing them to her mother. “Take these. I will just wear stockings. You’ll need them to climb over the rocks outside to make it to the dinghies waiting along the water on the far side of the castle.”

“But you—” Fannie started.

“I will climb without.” Tierney nodded to her father. “Same with you.”

“What ship did ye bring?” Douglas asked to Tierney’s back as she helped her mother fasten every available loop on the cloak.

“The Macdonalds of Sleat have two galleons and thirty Brinell ships waiting off the coast in Loch Duich.”

Fannie’s fingers slid along the line of leather that disappeared between her legs. “Doesn’t this chafe?” she whispered.

“Macdonalds?” her father said, his voice louder. He glanced at the door as if realizing the need to stay quiet.

“No, Mother.” At least not yet, but this was no time to worry over chafing.

“And yes, Father.” She looked at him. “There are warriors from the MacLeods, Macdonalds, and Mackinnons who’ve accompanied the twenty remaining MacNicol warriors.”

“Our enemies,” her father said, his voice stern.

“Who are risking their lives to free you.”

“I don’t want their help,” he said, his face turning red. “Gilbert Macdonald is one of Murdoc’s supporters. The Mathesons plan to help him establish another group of Macdonalds near Scorrybreac if he can’t immediately oust the Macdonalds on Sleat.”

Kenan’s brother was at Eilean Donan? “Gilbert Macdonald?” She pressed her fist against her chest where a pain suddenly beat. “How do you know this?” she asked, her gaze going back and forth between her father and the door as if she could see down below in the Great Hall.

“Before we were locked in this blasted room, Murdoc tried to force me to give up Scorrybreac. To save yer mother, I had to cross out the clause about the contract being void if you married another.”

“The contract tying me legally to Ranulf without my consent,” she added.

Her father’s lips pinched, ignoring her comment. “Gilbert was there, discussing plans with Ranulf.”

Tierney controlled the rage welling up inside her. They were running out of time, especially now that Gilbert could expose Morag as his aunt. Murdoc would think Kenan was playing a game. Holy Joan! Bloody hell!

Heart thumping hard, she turned back to the door, needing to go, needing to do something, and needing to do it now. “I came for the crew and Mother. You can choose to stay.” She threw her arm through Fannie’s and tugged her to follow her to the door. Morag was probably already discovered.

Her father blustered behind her, but she heard his footfalls following her out of the room. She opened the door to the narrow staircase. “These are for the servants. You’re on the third floor. Go to the first. It opens in the kitchen. Run through to the outside door before anyone can stop or question you. You will have to run through the kitchen garden, orchard, and over rocks to the western side of this small island. Go through the tumbled-down gate facing the sea. Find the dinghies there to pick you up.”

“What if someone tries to stop us?” Fannie asked.

“Use this pin to stab them, most preferably in the eye.” She handed her the pin that kept poking her leg through the pocket she’d tied to her waist.

“Good Lord,” Fannie murmured and stuck it through the fabric of the cape.

“And where will ye be?” Douglas asked.

Tierney couldn’t leave Kenan to deal with her plan blowing up. “I need to get the chiefs out.”

Her father grabbed her arm. “I’ll help. Ye take yer mother to the ship.”

She stared into her father’s hard eyes. She didn’t trust him to aid three clans he’d been raised to hate even if they’d come to Eilean Donan to rescue him. “No. This is my plan to get you out of here. And damn it, this plan is going to work.” She ended the word with a harsh K . “So get Mother to the ship.”

“Listen to her,” Fannie said. “She has gotten this far.”

“Nearly naked,” Douglas said.

Tierney gave him an incredulous look while she flipped her hand to indicate his own lack of clothing. “Once again…” She left the words unsaid.

He frowned but took her mother’s arm. “Daughter,” Douglas said, and she met his gaze. “Be safe.” The softening in his voice caught her off guard. “Ye…ye’ve…done well to rescue yer mother.”

And you and the crew. But she merely shooed them down the steps. Her mother in the full-length cloak and her father in the ill-fitting trousers and bare feet hurried down. For a moment Tierney watched them go and then looked back along the corridor.

Plan number five had been for her to go with her parents once they were free, but she hadn’t counted on Gilbert Macdonald being friendly with Ranulf and Murdoc. She’d literally dragged Kenan into this, drugging and shackling him, too, and now she and Morag had worked behind his back. She wouldn’t leave him behind when plan five had to be falling apart.

She turned to look back down the corridor, trying to decide which way to go.

…

Kenan jumped up from his chair like the rest of them, mouth agape. Morag’s long, white-and-silver hair swung in a braid against the lower edge of her arse. Her legs were pale with a few blue veins visible through the translucent skin. Slim and regal, she walked with determined grace toward the door. The only sign of weakness about her was a scar on her back. He recognized a flogging scar since he had his own.

“Good God,” Henry said, watching his aunt, his eyes wide as moons.

Those before her must see her heavy bosom and the crux of her legs, but no one turned away. The gloved hand, slathered in some type of poison, remained apart, and her boots rose to her mid-calf. Otherwise, his aunt was naked.

She stepped down the same seat she’d used to mount the table and walked with clipping dignity. Her crow glided back and forth over her head, closer than when it had come inside. It appeared like a sentry or guard, ready to defend its vulnerable mistress if any approached her.

“Ye brought Aunt Morag,” Gilbert yelled at Kenan. “The witch of Skye.” He ran toward her as if he couldn’t believe it was her. Morag kept her face straight ahead. “Aunt Morag? Why are ye here?”

Daingead . Tierney hadn’t known Gilbert would be there when she put her newest plan in motion. Kenan glanced up at the steps leading above. Was Tierney up there trying to release her parents?

Murdoc’s face hardened. “She’s a distraction.”

“Fok!” Ranulf yelled, holding his red hand with a handkerchief as if it still burned. “Stop her!”

“Time to go,” Kenan said to Cyrus and Rory. Cyrus and Rory moved with him after Morag, Henry following in a blustery trot.

“Stop them!” Murdoc yelled, and the guards within the hall filled the space before the archway to the steps leading out of the keep. They were outnumbered, even with the three warriors who’d come with them. Only Henry drew his sword, both hands wrapped around it like a shield.

Morag pushed open the doors beyond, and a flurry of wings and screeches from out in the bailey kept anyone from running after her. She disappeared into the blackness.

Kenan turned back to Murdoc. “We came to negotiate, and ye hold us hostage? Ye better check yer harbor before deciding to detain the chiefs of three powerful clans.”

Murdoc kept his severe frown. “Ranulf, check on our prisoners above. John, go look at our harbor and light the signal fire to gather our warriors.” Ranulf ran toward the steps leading above while one of the guards turned, jogging through the entryway—the angry sound of cawing crows filtered in as he opened the doors.

Hopefully, Douglas and Fannie MacNicol and Tierney were already outside and headed to the dinghy along the shadowed shoreline.

Hopefully, another would be waiting there for them, one that she arranged. That woman was going to be the death of him and possibly two of the brotherhood working to strengthen Skye.

Bloody foking hell.

“While we wait, why don’t ye take yer seats?”

They did not move, but Kenan heard Rory whisper to Henry. “Put yer damn sword away.”

“I thought… Oh,” Henry whispered and returned his sword to its sheath.

Kenan’s mind ran through their assets: six trained warriors and one old man with a sword, two galleons, thirty Brinell ships moving along the seaside of Eilean Donan, and Morag’s questionable powers if she hadn’t fled the isle.

Had Tierney finished her plan and left with her parents? Even if they did make it back to the ship, the MacNicols needed the other clans on Skye to keep the Mathesons from coming to overtake Scorrybreac. If she was the reason the three chiefs did not return to the ships, she’d have an impossible time convincing them to aid her.

She should have told him her plan. Daingead. Would I have listened? The answer was no. Now this tangle might leave the Isle of Skye more vulnerable than it had ever been, and all because he couldn’t stop wanting to protect Tierney, so much so that he wouldn’t listen to her. He was a fool like Cyrus had said.

Despite the thoughts churning in Kenan’s head, he needed to show a calm, level-headed countenance. “I don’t know why Morag Gunn arrived here or left like she did except to bring ye a warning, Murdoc.” He opened his hands wide. “That was completely on her own. I would never ask my aunt to bare her body to anyone, let alone a room of men.”

“She’s mad,” Gilbert said. “She and her bloody birds.”

Kenan walked slowly back to the table. He sat and grabbed a roll, taking the eating knife out to slather soft butter onto it. Cyrus and Rory followed, and finally Henry. Kenan took a bite and pointed the roll at Murdoc, who still stood as if ready to jump into action. “But ye must have guessed we would bring our troops to retrieve Chief and Lady MacNicol, which includes ships with cannons and men.” He swallowed and motioned with the roll toward the back wall. “Which are just about now sailing up Loch Duich, positioning themselves to fire.”

“Eilean Donan won’t fall,” Murdoc said, leaning forward on his palms placed on the table before him.

“Perhaps not,” Cyrus said, taking a roll himself. “But yer docks will be obliterated and then men will storm the shoreline.”

“We don’t take the invasion of the Isle of Skye quietly,” Rory said, his amber eyes staring at Murdoc.

“The clans of Skye do not defend one another,” Gilbert said. “They war with one another.”

Rory looked at him. “An outdated strategy that left yer father without his head.”

“Ye foking bastard,” Gilbert yelled, rushing toward Rory, who stood in defense.

But before Gilbert could reach him, Kenan stepped before him, his fist pulled back. Crack! Kenan’s fist connected with Gilbert’s face. With the additional momentum, the impact shook through Kenan, but he remained standing while Gilbert dropped like a basket of bricks.

Kenan turned toward Murdoc, continuing as if his brother’s unconscious body weren’t lying at his feet and his knuckles weren’t bleeding. “My brother loses his temper, which makes for a bad leader. We should discuss and strategize like disciplined men if we are to guard Scotland against its true enemy, England.” Kenan stepped over Gilbert’s extended hand and took his seat.

Murdoc, brows furrowed, moved back to his own chair at the top of the table. “Ye want to take on England?” One of Murdoc’s men dragged Gilbert away from the table, leaving him lying on the floor.

“Nay,” Kenan said, reaching down the table to grab his half-eaten roll while Cyrus and Rory retook their seats. “I want Scotland to be strong and united so the English bastards don’t come up here and do what ye’re trying to do on Skye, infiltrate it so ye can control it.” Kenan glanced at Gilbert. “With men like my brother, Scotland will always be weak against foreign foes.”

Murdoc tilted his head, his tongue sliding up behind his lips across his teeth. “Ye have a brother like I do, one ye would rather have somewhere else.”

Kenan had guessed this. “So ye sent him to Scorrybreac.”

“It seemed like a reasonable plan.” Murdoc studied the three of them.

“Not when the three most powerful clans on Skye are ready to go to war against ye for doing it,” Rory said.

“Now it seems rather un reasonable,” Cyrus said.

“And what if the chiefs and their second in commands,” Murdoc indicated Jok, Tomas, and Bartholomew who now also sat at the table, “were to…disappear?”