Page 3 of The Highlander’s Fallen Angel (Brotherhood of Solway Moss #2)

“A great wind is blowing, and that gives you either imagination or a headache.”

Catherine the Great – Empress of Russia 1729–1796

“Where is she?” Kenan asked when his twin sisters ran up to him at the wedding feast. Not wanting to take the time for a real bath, he’d bathed in a freshwater stream and redressed. His gaze rose over Eliza and Eleri as he took in the gathered crowd.

Eliza propped hands on her hips, which were beginning to curve outward with her thirteenth birthday drawing near. The girls were nearly identical, except Eleri had suffered from a bending spine, which their aunt Morag was trying to strengthen. Eliza frowned. “You mean Tierney? And most civilized people start with a greeting before throwing questions about.”

“Apologies,” he said, raking his hand through his wet hair. “Greetings, Lady Eliza, Lady Eleri.” He bowed to each of them, winning himself smiles and curtseys. “Her name is Tierney, then?” he asked. “Tierney what?”

“She has not told us,” Eleri said, with a wave toward the castle. “Mistress Margaret took her inside to bathe in warm water and drink some hot broth.”

“Have either of ye seen her before?”

They shook their heads in unison, one with coiled braids and one with cascading curls.

Kenan rubbed his short beard. “Did she say why she tried to steal my glider?” He still couldn’t believe the audacity of the woman.

“I think it was an accident,” Eliza said.

“Surely, she didn’t mean to fly over the ocean, crash, and nearly drown,” Eleri said.

“Surely,” he murmured, looking toward the castle.

“Greetings and good tidings to ye all,” Rory called after leaping up on one of the tables. “I offer a toast to my lovely bride.” He raised his cup with one hand and pulled Sara up with the other so that she stood beside him. “To Sara, the Flame of Dunscaith, the Lady of Dunvegan, and my wife!”

The hundreds of villagers and warriors in attendance roared their approval, raising their cups or finding one to join in. The twins hurried toward the couple, and Simon and John Sutherland, the two elderly advisors, cheered loudly. Simon thumped John on the back as if they had some part of bringing Sara and Rory together.

Kenan turned toward the ferries that took people into Dunvegan Castle and stopped short as Cyrus pressed a tankard into his hand. Cyrus raised it with the mass behind Kenan and took a drink. “Grace is on the hunt for ye,” Cyrus said, holding onto Kenan’s arm. “After seeing yer naked arse, I think she’s convinced my idea for ye two to wed has merit despite her inheriting Father’s dislike of Macdonalds.”

So, the lovely, flirtatious Grace Mackinnon didn’t mind the scars on his back.

Cyrus patted his jacket. “I already have the documents drawn up to unite Clan Macdonald and Clan Mackinnon through marriage.”

“I am not planning to stay here the night, Cy,” Kenan said. “Leaving Dunscaith in ashes and unprotected doesn’t show me to be an excellent chief to my clan.”

“Ye need to look at the betrothal contract before ye leave, then, and sign it if it all looks right to ye.”

Kenan’s friend had proposed the alliance-forming union behind his father’s back. Old Hamish Mackinnon hated the other clans on the Isle of Skye, especially the Macdonalds. Cyrus’s older brother died from a tainted wound after a skirmish with Kenan’s father’s forces. Hamish held all Macdonalds responsible. A union between his daughter, Grace, and the new chief of the Macdonalds of Sleat would be a considerable step to mending that festering hatred. When they escaped Carlisle Dungeon three months ago, Cyrus, Kenan, Rory, and Asher had sworn to unite their isle.

“Yer father will rage, Cy. I’m surprised Grace and ye were able to sneak away from Dun Haakon Castle without raising suspicions.”

Cyrus’s usual grin turned into a tight line of determination. He set his tankard on a table and drew out a folded missive. “Our oaths to bring Skye together, to make our isle strong against the foking English, are stronger than any of Da’s rages. ’Tis been over a year since Patrick died. Grace agrees with me and the Brotherhood that ’tis time to bring the isle together.”

The humiliating loss at Solway Moss, fifteen thousand Scots to three thousand English, showed the deadly problem of Scottish disloyalty to one another. And then the four men had been abandoned by their clans as they rotted in a dungeon in England, so they’d formed a brotherhood. The loyalty between the Highlanders was stronger than clan blood. They would work around old prejudices and blood feuds to strengthen their isle.

“When ye marry Grace, she will come with thirty-thousand crowns, which will go a long way in helping ye resurrect Dunscaith,” Cyrus said. “She will also bring twenty head of—”

“Good eve.” Grace Mackinnon’s voice broke through her brother’s description as she walked up to them with a practiced smile. With dark hair swept partly up, allowing a drape of curls down her back, she was pale perfection with stained red lips. “’Twas gallant of you to rescue that bedraggled child from the sea, Kenan.”

“She’s actually a woman,” Kenan said. “I need to find out why she tried to steal my glider.”

“Madness,” Cyrus said. He returned the folded parchment to his jacket.

Madness was one possibility, but there’d been a look of sane determination in the lass’s eyes that made Kenan think there was more to her story.

“I’ll be able to tell after an interview with her,” Kenan said.

Grace slid her arm through Kenan’s. “Later, Chief Macdonald. Right now, I’d like to interview you .”

Her smile was firm and her dark eyes confident. Grace was used to getting her way. As much as Kenan would like to learn more about the woman who could cement an alliance between their two large, feuding clans, his mind was being tugged like his canvas glider in the wind.

“I hear Dunscaith will be beautiful once ’tis cleaned and repaired,” Grace said.

“Uh, aye,” he replied.

The lass’s name was Tierney, but Tierney what? And if the woman wasn’t mad, why would she risk her life trying to steal his glider? Could she possibly know how important the machine was to him? Had someone sent her to take the wings after seeing how they could be used in battle? Did she have a clan that was waiting to attack?

Kenan had to find answers sooner rather than later.

“Will there be a festival to celebrate its completion?” Grace asked.

And what had Tierney meant when she said she needed him? Was that said through fear of drowning? It hadn’t sounded that way.

Kenan patted Grace’s hand and then lowered his arm so that she had to pull it back or look like she was trying to drag him somewhere. “I will seek ye out after I question the woman,” Kenan said.

Grace’s bottom lip protruded like a pout. “Very well, but I might not be available later. Several men have asked me to dance.”

He bowed over her hand, making up his mind to stay at Dunvegan a few hours, maybe until morning if the whisky was flowing. He kissed her soft knuckles and smiled at her. “I will battle the men away, Lady Grace, to win an interview with ye.”

“How nice of you to stay for Grace,” Cyrus said, raising his eyebrows.

Kenan held her gaze. “I was going to leave soon for Dunscaith, but ye’ve made it too difficult to leave immediately. I will be sure to see ye before I must away.”

Her frown softened with the words he knew she wanted. He could charm the petticoats off a woman as easily as Cyrus. The difference was that Kenan rarely did.

Grace turned away before he could, and Kenan strode toward the dock where ferries waited to be poled over to the castle’s entrance.

Cyrus followed him. “Kenan.” His voice was heavy with warning. “Ye don’t know my sister well yet, so let me enlighten ye. She’s the jealous type.”

“I picked up on that.” Kenan’s boots crunched on the pebbles. Would Tierney be sleeping? The ordeal may have worn her completely out.

“Grace has Father’s tenacity and can be…vindictive if she feels slighted. That golden-haired lass that looked like an angel falling from the sky will, I fear, bring out the worst in her.”

The woman had looked like an angel, although wearing trousers, before plunging from sky to sea. Kenan jumped onto one of three ferries. He set his tankard down to unhitch the barge from the dock. “Be careful, Cy, else ye make me reconsider marrying her.”

Cyrus rubbed a hand down his face. “Grace is a good woman with high moral standing and a need to create the perfect world for herself, perfect betrothal, perfect wedding, perfect marriage. I love her, but…she’s a challenge, Kenan.”

“I like challenges,” Kenan said, although Grace Mackinnon was starting to sound like more than he had time for. “But she needs to know I have a castle to rebuild and a clan to strengthen.” He looked over at his friend as he grabbed up a pole. “They are my priority right now.”

Cyrus crossed his arms and gave him a dubious look as Kenan pushed off. “It looks to me like a fallen angel is suddenly yer priority.”

“Curiosity, not priority.”

“Curiosity for beautiful lasses will see ye without a wife,” Cyrus called.

“Says the man known as the biggest rogue on the isle.”

Cyrus smiled but shook his head. He couldn’t refute it. Cyrus Mackinnon had women practically sneaking into his bed with his chiseled body and handsome face. For the most part, the man was full of wit and affable. Few saw the darker side of him, the side Kenan had seen at Carlisle. If he let that fury out, even a little, he wouldn’t be so sought after by the lasses.

Kenan pushed down on the pole. “I promise to seek out Grace as soon as I come back across. But this mystery woman owes me an explanation.”

Cyrus huffed and called after him. “Thirty thousand crowns and twenty head of prime Highland beef, Kenan. Yer clan would be strong again by Christmastide.”

Cyrus was right. Kenan’s clan was his priority, and Grace Mackinnon would help strengthen his clan and bring further peace to Skye. Mackinnon territory stretched from the Sleat Peninsula up through the center of Skye to MacLeod territory. It was vast, and the clan’s warriors were powerful. Cyrus’s father didn’t plan on dying anytime soon. A marriage to Grace would align all three great clans on Skye. Kenan should go find her now and tease a kiss out of her.

But Kenan continued to propel the barge across the distance to the spit of land that served as a shoreline and entrance to the castle. “I’ll return to her quickly.”

No guards stood at the peer to Dunvegan today, and he hopped off, securing the ferry before climbing the many stone steps to pass through the iron gate. Kenan’s father, Walter Macdonald, who’d wanted to besiege Dunvegan his entire life, was probably throwing a fit down in Hell that Kenan could walk into the castle with such ease. Friendships and alliances opened doors where violence and threats closed them. Kenan had learned that and more from his time imprisoned in England with men from each of the warring clans on the Isle of Skye.

Gus, Rory’s old wolfhound, barked as Kenan entered, but nobody else was in the Great Hall. Not even a hearth fire had been kept going. The dog snuffled around Kenan’s legs, realizing who he was, and walked back to find his bed beside the cold hearth where a blanket had been laid for him. Footfalls came from a corridor, and Margaret entered. “Oh, Chief Macdonald, everyone’s out at the wedding feast.”

“Not ye, though.”

She smiled. “I’m on my way now.”

“Is Tierney tucked away somewhere?” Kenan glanced upward.

“She finished her bath and a meal in the kitchen. I left her up in the east tower room to rest from her ordeal.”

“I need to ask her some questions.”

“She does not seem inclined to give answers,” Margaret said, hesitating. “And you shouldn’t rebuke her for the accident.”

“Does she say it was an accident? Her moving the heavy rocks away from the wings and grabbing hold of the control bar to fly my glider?”

Margaret shook her head. “She hasn’t given answers to any questions, but I don’t think she was trying to take her own life. She is too…high-spirited for melancholia to be her ailment.” She looked back at the stairs. “I can chaperone if you’d like to—”

“Ye can go to the feast,” he said, waving her toward the door. “If she’s sleeping, I’ll leave her be. If she’s awake, I will ask some calm, non-threatening questions. Since I saved her, maybe she’ll be more forthcoming.”

Margaret looked pointedly at him. “If you weren’t Sara’s beloved brother, and known to be honorable, levelheaded, and kind, I wouldn’t allow you to visit her, but both she and Rory swear to your integrity, Chief Macdonald.”

The word “kind” irked him. It shouldn’t, but his father had said it was his weakness. He didn’t throw rocks at barn kittens or punch lads if they laughed at him. Kenan’s mother once called him a kind lad, and his father had jumped on the word, using it to point out how weak he was. But right now, it worked in his favor.

Kenan tried to look as honorable as he could by standing straight and keeping a serious but contented look on his face. “I’ll do the lass no harm.”

“Very well, then. Join the festivities when you can. I know Sara will be looking for you.” She smiled. “And Grace Mackinnon.”

Sara would know that he wanted answers from the lass, and Cyrus would make certain his sister was entertained. As soon as Kenan heard Margaret go through the iron gate down the stairs to the ferry, he turned toward the alcove where the steps rose to all three levels and the tower rooms. His sister had stayed in the same tower where the mysterious Tierney now rested. After his lengthy swim against the current, towing a woman and then the water-logged glider to shore, his legs burned with his fast climb. But pain meant little to him, and the exertion would merely make more muscle, so he surged up the stairs almost as if running.

He slowed as he climbed the last turn leading to the tower door, stopping outside. Listening, he heard a quiet voice through the thick wood. Singing? He couldn’t make out the words, but it meant Tierney wasn’t asleep. He brought his knuckles to the door.

Rap. Rap.

The song stopped. “Who is it?”

“Kenan Macdonald.”

Silence. He crossed his arms, waiting. After long seconds, the latch clicked, and the door swung outward, making him dodge to the side so it wouldn’t hit him. Rory MacLeod sometimes used the room as a prison, so the door had been reversed. When Kenan came back around the door, his breath caught.

The woman stood before him in a thin robe over a smock. Look away. But he couldn’t. She’d rendered him still as a marble statue, leaving only his gaze moving across her form. Tierney’s hair was damp but starting to curl around her lovely face. Clear green eyes blinked slowly. Cheeks rosy, nipples hard through the linen and begging to be kissed, she was a siren luring him to a quick but thoroughly enjoyable death.

“I… Pardon,” Kenan said and finally forced his gaze upward. “I did not know ye were undressed. I can come back.”

She moved closer, her hands outstretched as if she’d cling to him again like when she was in the sea. But she stopped before reaching him and crossed her arms over her chest, which only pushed her breasts higher until he could see the swell above the lace edging of her smock. “No. Stay.”

Her full bottom lip slid slightly out, not in a playful way but more authentically. “Is your flying machine at the bottom of the sea?”

“Nay,” he said, dropping his hands to his sides. “I dragged it to shore, but ’tis likely destroyed.”

She grimaced. “I am sorry for that. ’Twas a magnificent machine.”

Kenan’s jaw hardened as his teeth clamped tightly for a moment. “Were ye trying to steal it? Is that why ye took the stones away?”

“No,” she said. “Will you stay at Dunvegan to fix it? Surely it can’t be dragged back to Dunscaith torn up.”

“Nay,” he said. His priority was rebuilding Dunscaith, not fixing his wings no matter how badly he wanted to feel the wind pick him off the earth. “Why did ye remove the stones?” he asked.

“I can help you fix them. Here at Dunvegan.”

He huffed a wry exhale. “Ye owe me an explanation, Tierney.”

Her head tipped slightly. “You know my name.”

He felt like a dog chasing its tail in a never-ending game he couldn’t win. “So ye went to the top of Cnoc Mor a Ghrobain, used force to remove the stones from my glider, and then took hold of the control bar so the wind could pick ye up. And ye did all this to not steal my glider.”

“No, but I feel responsible, so I will help you fix it. Here at Dunvegan,” Tierney said, sitting on the edge of her cot. Her fingers curled inward, propping herself forward on her knuckles, her shoulders higher to her ears.

Kenan narrowed his eyes, trying to ignore how beautiful she looked sitting there as the breeze from the open window ruffled her curls. As the air dried her hair, the color lightened to a pale gold color. “If ye didn’t mean to steal it, ye meant to destroy it.”

The space between her brows furrowed slightly, and he had the outlandish desire to smooth it with his thumb.

“I noticed the rock cutting into a wing and moved it,” she said. “I was worried it would injure the material. And then the wind blew up and yanked the glider from the other rocks, and I managed to grab the bar to stop it from escaping when it snatched me off the ground.”

He inhaled deeply. “The rocks were not sharp-edged.” He’d checked them all.

“One was.” She kept his stare, challenging him like no other person besides his sister, Sara, had ever done. Men respected his leadership, and the lasses, although boldened by his easy smile and reputation for honor, never ignored his questions or argued against what he knew to be true.

“What is yer surname?” He knew very well he wouldn’t get any further with questioning her about the accident or sabotage, whichever it truly was.

“Bruce.”

His brows rose. “From what clan do ye hail?”

“I was visiting a distant cousin here at Dunvegan and saw the glider placed on the hill.”

Kenan studied her, but the lass didn’t look away. She met his eyes without blinking. If she was lying, she was a good liar. “I will take ye back to yer cousin, then.”

She took a full breath as if she were shoring up her courage and smiled, bringing mischief to her eyes. He wondered if his aunt Morag had some tonic that would make Tierney Bruce tell all her secrets, because she no doubt had a head full of them. “I would like that, thank you. I was so bedraggled from my crash in the sea that I didn’t resist the ladies when they brought me here. Truth be told, I wanted a warm bath and some food. My cousin’s family doesn’t have much to spare.”

Kenan frowned. “They should report their need to Rory MacLeod. ’Tis his responsibility to make sure all the people in the MacLeod Clan are fed and hearty.”

She waved a hand. “Oh, I’m sure he does, but they hadn’t planned on me being another mouth to feed this eve.”

“Yer cousin will be worried. I’ll visit to let—”

“I already sent word. A message as soon as I arrived here. One of the kitchen maids who helped me with my bath swore she’d let my cousin, Eleanor MacLeod, know I was safe and up at Dunvegan. Maybe for another whole day.”

They stared at one another, Tierney grinning and tilting her head. Would her hair look flaxen or golden in the sun? “Thank you again for saving me,” she said and pulled her knees up, tucking her feet under her. “I apologize about your glider, Kenan Macdonald, and I want to atone for my mistake. I will help you rebuild it here. You are staying for a few days at Dunvegan, aren’t you?”

Kenan stared at the woman who fluctuated between remorse and requests. “Nay,” he said, following the trail of her hair over one shoulder to lie on her breasts. Och, but they were perfect and full enough to fill his palms. Lord! He was staring at her breasts! He turned, walking to the door. “I will take ye to yer cousin’s, but then I must ride south to Dunscaith immediately.”

She stood abruptly. “You will leave tonight?”

“Or at dawn tomorrow. Even though the wolves are well fed this time of year, I prefer to avoid them.”

Tierney blinked rapidly. “You won’t stay at Dunvegan?”

“I have a castle to rebuild on Sleat Peninsula and a clan to guide. I can’t tarry.”

“But you’ll come with my meal this eve?” Tierney asked quickly. “You won’t take your leave without seeing me again?”

The woman’s hair spread around her shoulders like a golden cape, her face smooth, and her lips the color of summer roses. Whether from the mystery of the lass or her beauty or strange ways, Kenan was certain he’d be the one to return. He nodded. “I’ll return this eve.”

She smiled with what looked like relief, and somehow Kenan’s plans to return to Dunscaith that afternoon blew away.