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Chapter Five – Colin

I couldn’t steal what was missing, and Freya MacLeod and her three friends had gone missing. I did what any man scheming to take a lass to save his clan would do—I joined the search for her. And when I found her, I was going to take her, wed her, and then send a raven with my terms to her da.

We searched through the night with the party we’d been assigned to, but to no avail. And as the sun came fully in the sky to bring another day, horns began to blow, and shouts rang out through the forest.

“They’ve been found!”

“They’re alive!”

“Return to the castle.”

“What do ye want to do?” Connor asked beside me, low enough that only I could hear.

Horses stampeded past us from other parties of warriors who’d been out looking for the four missing lasses. I wanted to end the war, so there was only one thing to do. “Return to the castle.”

Connor made a derisive noise and threw up a hand. “We can nae snatch the lass with her entire clan looking upon us!”

“I ken that, brother. We’ll take her when nae anyone is looking.”

I gathered my reins to head to the stronghold just as horses galloped past us with the MacKinnon banner waving at the front of the line. Irritation flared to see Freya MacLeod on the front of Donald MacKinnon’s horse. She hung in front of him like a limp rag. What in God’s name had happened to her? On the horses behind her, three other women were seated in front of warriors. One stared ahead at nothing. One sat crying. The last lass was gnawing on her nails and babbling.

I urged my horse onward, its hooves pounding the terrain as we charged through the forest, branches snapping in a blur around us. Connor rode close behind. Together, we burst from the dense line of trees and barreled into the wide expanse of the inner courtyard, a swirl of chaos and activity that halted for a moment at our arrival, all eyes turning to witness our dramatic entrance. MacLeod warriors jostled and shouted, their voices rising in surprise, while scores of men from visiting clans—each bearing unfamiliar tartans—milled about, intent on their own intrigues and maneuvers.

Some clutched weapons they had been inspecting; others worked to repair armor, or strategized in small, conspiratorial knots. The clang of metal and the hum of conversation stilled and hushed, everyone suddenly attuned to the dust and urgency of our approach. Faces registered shock and curiosity, as though confronted with a strange and unexpected sight, a pause stretching through the throng like a breath before an exhale. An astonished silence washed over the bustling courtyard, all eyes wide and locked upon us.

I slowed my panting beast, as did Connor, and when we were halted, he turned to me. “This does nae bode well for the plan to snatch the lass unbeknownst to anyone.”

I nodded, surveying the scene and thinking .

“What’s our plan?” Connor asked, voice pitched low as chaos erupted around us. People poured into the courtyard, shoving and pushing, their curiosity to see what had happened to the lasses overriding any sense of decorum.

“We wait for an opening to do what we need, and if one does nae come quickly, we will have to depart and regroup.”

“I’m glad to hear ye say that,” Connor replied.

I scowled at him. “I’d nae endanger us.”

“Nae if yer thinking logically, ye would nae, but ye have nae always been known to think logically.”

“I do nae need ye to remind me of my mistakes,” I bit out. “They haunt me. Believe me.”

Connor nodded and then fell silent as we both turned our attention to MacLeod who was aiding his daughter off the destrier.

“Where the devil have ye been?” he demanded, but as he did, the woman who’d been on his heels pushed her way past him and grasped Freya. “Ye selfish, selfish fool!”

“Yennifer,” MacLeod snapped. “Let Freya answer my question.”

I couldn’t tear my gaze from the lass. Her eyes were rounded like a cornered rabbit, and there wasn’t a hint of color on her face.

“I—” she started.

“I found her in the Dark Woods,” MacKinnon interrupted. “The lot of them were wondering around lost.”

“Why the devil would ye go into the Dark Woods alone?” MacLeod demanded. When Freya didn’t answer, MacLeod grasped her by the arms and stood face to face with her. “Answer me, daughter.” She stared at her da, her expression transfixed. What exactly had happened to the lass and her friends in the woods ?

One by one the three lasses that had been with Freya were aided off the destriers they rode, and each lass looked every bit as dazed as Freya. They were all daughters of lairds, and from what I’d gathered, close friends with Freya.

“Answer me!” MacLeod now shouted. I wasn’t certain if his temper was snapping out of frustration or worry for his daughter, but either way, the way he shook her sent me back to when Katherine told me about Magy. How one of the MacLeod warriors had shaken her so hard she had cried out. I heard a cry then, and I was not in this courtyard. I was at Dunscaith three years ago. But this time, in my thoughts, I had not chased our enemies into the woods. I’d stayed on the castle grounds, so that when the MacLeods had breached the outer courtyard, I’d been there to drive them back before they’d ravished Magy and then killed her.

MacLeod shook the lass yet again. Or was he shaking Magy? I squeezed my eyes shut, and when I opened them, it was the MacLeod lass I saw.

“Why did ye go in the woods?” her da demanded.

“We went to borrow Morgana’s magic goblet,” one of the lasses standing behind Freya said. The lass stepped forward, gave a curtsy to MacLeod, and, twisting her hands in front of her said, “We all had wishes we wanted to come true.” Her words had dropped low, and her gaze darted around before focusing on the far side of the courtyard. I followed her line of attention and found a man striding toward us, too young to be her da, mayhap her brother?

“We heard a Summer Walker speak of a magic goblet that would grant ye yer wish if ye dipped it in the old fairly pool and drank from it,” said the lass with bright red hair and face full of freckles who had stepped forward.

“Foolish lasses!” MacLeod swore, releasing his grip on his daughter. He pointed at her. “Ye’re lucky ye were nae injured venturing into the woods as ye did on a ridiculous whim! I told ye nae to go into the Dark Woods without escort. All is well that ends well,” he boomed, and the crowd in the courtyard fell silent. “I was going to save the announcement for supper tonight, but seeing as how MacKinnon rescued my daughter, we will celebrate their betrothal tonight. They will be wed in a fortnight.”

“Nay.” The forceful word split the moment of quiet after the announcement and drew my gaze back to Freya, who seemed to have finally snapped out of her stupor. She was staring at Donald MacKinnon with a look of horror. “I can nae wed him, Da. I’m sorry.” Her hand fluttered to her neck. She backed away from MacKinnon when he stepped toward her and closer to her da.

“Do we need to call Vanora down here?” the woman Yennifer asked.

I picked up on a threatening undertone, and I supposed the lass did too. She flinched. “Nay. Nay!” Her gaze started to glow, making my belly clench at the sight. The gold became brighter. The green more vivid. She pointed at Donald MacKinnon. “If ye wed me, ye will murder yer da.”

Immediately, a hush fell on the crowd. I stilled myself at her words.

“Do nae be ridiculous!” Mackinnon replied, his tone curt and his expression a thunderous sky.

“Ye must listen to me!” She ran to him and grabbed his hand, tilting her head to stare up at him. “Yer da will attempt to ravish me, and ye will kill him! I saw it!”

“What do ye mean ye saw it?” her da demanded.

She released Donald’s hand and took a deep shuddering breath as she turned to face her da. “I’ve been cursed,” she said, raking her hands through her hair before pressing her fingers to either side of her temples. “I did nae want to wed Donald. Ye ken it,” she said, circling her arms around herself and rocking back and forth on her heels. “I wished to see the future, so I could manipulate it. I wanted to wed for love, and I thought if I saw the future I could destroy yer enemies and wed as I wish!” She pressed her fingertips to her eyes and tapped them. Her agony was so acute it took my breath. “We took Morgana’s magic goblet,” she whispered. Tears spilled down her face and she patted herself on the chest. “I have been cursed.” Her voice was choked. Raw.

“Cursed?” the woman Yennifer asked in a curious tone.

“Do nae be ridiculous!” her da thundered.

“She speaks the truth,” the red-headed, freckle faced lass said. “We took the goblet without asking and when the Morgana came back from gathering the herbs she needed to make a potion to put in the goblet to save her mama, who was wounded, the goblet was gone, and her mama died. Morgana cursed us.”

“Ye have nae been cursed,” MacLeod, growled. “Enough of this foolishness!”

“Da,” Freya cried out. “Ye must listen to me! The witch twisted my wish into a curse. She gave me the gift of sight,” she said, her voice shrill. “But nae how I wanted it! I—”

“Sight for the future is a gift!” Freya’s stepmother crowed.

Freya shook her head so violently I feared she’d do damage. “Nay!” she said, her tone hard. “Nay. Morgana told me I will see things afore they occur.” Freya looked up at Donald again. “When ye found me, and ye touched me to put me on the horse. I saw yer future if ye wed me. Ye will kill yer da. It will divide yer clan. And ye will be killed by one of yer own. A dagger to the heart.”

The silence of the crowd erupted into furious whispers. My own pulse had sped, and I looked to my brother. Our gazes locked, and I could see by his excited expression he was thinking what I was. If this was true, if Freya now had the gift of sight, we had to snatch her today. Before someone else did. She would be the key to ending this war. She would tell me how. And when.

“I do nae believe in magic,” Donald said, like the fool he was. “I make my own future. And I would nae ever kill my da.”

“I have the sight!” she bellowed at him. “The witch told me so! She said, I will have the power to manipulate futures but nae my own. That my greatest wish will be my greatest misfortune. I am trying to save ye!” The lass’s tears streamed down her face now, and I felt a twinge of pity for the daughter of my greatest enemy.

The wind picked up suddenly, swirling and gusting and carrying the whispered words to my ears.

Seer. Site. Future Maker. Prize.

MacKinnon heard the whispers. It was obvious by the scowl upon his face. “Stop yer lies, Freya.”

The smack of her palm connecting with his cheek rang out in the courtyard and pitched it into silence once more.

“I’m sorry,” she rushed out. “But ye must hear me. Ye must listen.”

Before anyone could react to what she’d done, another smack rang out. Heavier. Harder. Freya cried out and went careening to the left from the force of Donald’s blow. She careened right into me. Our gazed locked for one brief second, before I set her aside and charged at him.

Aye, she was my enemy.

Aye, I intended to use her.

But nae any man had the right to hit a woman.

And then I saw Magy. Battered. Broken. And all I could think was how I’d failed her .

My control snapped, and I charged MacKinnon. My fist connected with his jaw before my arms were seized, and I was shoved to my knees. Around me, chaos erupted, sparked by the lass’s words, Donald’s actions, hers, and my own.

“Take Freya to her chambers,” MacLeod ordered a guard.

The guard grabbed her in a firm hold and propelled her away, but as the lass was being forced out of the courtyard, her wide, frightened gaze was locked on me.

“I demand retribution for this man hitting me,” MacKinnon snarled, pointing his sword at me. “I will have retribution, or ye will nae have yer alliance!”

MacLeod hesitated a moment before nodding. “Take him to the dungeon to await his punishment.” As the guards jerked me up, Connor stepped toward us, but I shook my head. If I was going to escape the dungeon, Connor needed to stay out of it to aid me. I was dragged through the crowd of frenzied, chattering people, down a set of stone stairs, and shoved into a small dungeon. The iron door was slammed and one of the warriors who shoved me in said, “We’ll send yer head back to yer laird.”

“I do nae think so,” I replied, an odd sense of mirth rising in me, despite now being locked in the dungeon to await my head being lopped off. I’d come to get peace or snatch a lass. Instead, I’d recklessly interceded to protect the lass I’d intended to use. And might possibly lose my head for it. Plans had gone awry.

“Do ye doubt that my laird will take yer head?” the guard snarled.

“Nay. I doubt yer laird’s ability to return it to Laird MacDonald.”

“Oh, he’ll receive it, all right. And he’ll be sorry he sent ye. ”

“I think he’s likely already sorry,” I replied. Sorry I’d interceded like a clot-heid.

“That’s better,” the guard bit out and stomped away.

I watched the guards disappear up the stairs as thoughts tumbled in my head. In Freya’s effort to help MacKinnon, she had just sealed her own fate. She would not be safe. She’d be hunted by men wanting to use her. It wasn’t lost on me that I was one of them. Though currently, my opportunities were limited.

The need to escape tore at me, as I stood in the dimness, trying the bars in vain, the cold metal unyielding beneath my fingers. Each failed attempt at the stubborn lock felt like an eternity slipping away. With a grudging resignation, I slumped onto the damp stone floor, the chill seeping through my clothes and into my skin. A scent of mold and decay hung in the air, a reminder of the forsaken place I was now in. I had never before found myself in need of rescue, never been the helpless one. It had always been me who took charge, who saved others from dire circumstances.

Now I could only cling to the hope that Connor would come through for me. He was my only chance. Would he manage to steal a key? Could he sneak down here without raising suspicion? As the hours stretched into years, minutes stuttering into decades, I counted everything I could to avoid counting the time. Drops of water tumbled from above, tiny creatures that splattered against my head and shoulders, running down my spine. Rats scurried by with unfettered freedom, each one a reminder of the growing futility of my efforts. I named aloud every person who relied on me, every soul I could not bear to fail.

Why had I been so foolish to intervene? The question gnawed at me, but what choice had there been? There was no other option. Not for me. Could I have stood by a silent witness to the cruelty unfolding? I closed my eyes and saw once more the image burned into my mind: MacKinnon’s hand raised to Freya, slapping her so hard that I thought I heard the blow echo between these same walls now caging me.

My muscles tensed at the memory. No, I could never have stood by. I knew this even as irritation rose up within me, mingling with the sensation of being trapped in this useless, precarious position I had gotten myself into. The impatience I felt earlier swelled to an anxiety filled with fear for everyone else. I couldn’t stop myself from pacing the minuscule space, back and forth, back and forth. Connor and the others needed me. Each of them was counting on me to come back to them.

What if Connor could not release me? What if he were caught in the attempt? My worry clawed at my insides like the sharpened talons of some angry bird, and I could feel my normal control slipping. Cursing, I leaned my head against the bars and squeezed my eyes shut.

I jerked upright at the sound of footfalls, and on the staircase light flickered, casting twisting shadows. Freya MacLeod emerged from the darkness, and I blinked, certain I was imagining things. But no, no, there she still was. She had the cell key in one hand and a torch in the other. It danced across her face, illuminating her large eyes. My body reacted strangely to her appearance. I was surprisingly and keenly aware of the curves of her lush figure hinted at under the fine material of her gown. I forced the unwelcome recognition away.

She took a deep breath, and I could see her chest rise with it. I didn’t know why she was here, but she was nervous. “I do nae ken who ye are, but when I collided into ye, I saw a vision of ye,” she whispered.

I believed in magic. I hadn’t always. I’d been a denier. But the cost of my disbelief was the one woman I’d ever loved. The scar on my forehead suddenly burned. The weight of it was like a physical burden. I raised my hand to rub at it, and the skin was hot, tender, and rough to the touch. It was a constant reminder of my past mistakes and the price I had paid. Freya’s eyes tracked my moves from the other side of the dungeon door. “What did ye see?” I asked. The sound of my breathing filled the silence that fell for a moment.

She sucked her lower lip between her teeth for a moment, thinking, I suspected, on exactly what to say. As her lip released so did her words. “A battle is coming to yer home even as ye are here.”

A sliver of apprehension coursed through me.

Freya moved to me and stuck her hand through the slit in the door. “Take my hand,” she said, urgency underlying her words.

I did not hesitate. Her intent seemed earnest and grave, her words like a solemn spell. I took her delicate, trembling hand in mine. She curled her fingers around my palm, holding it with a desperate strength, as if to seal our fates together by a touch. Her eyes began to glow, luminous and wild like twin moons in the dark sky of her face. “Ye need to get to Eilean Donnan. Ye need to get there now,” she urged, her voice rising with frantic insistence, as if each word could conjure the very speed of my journey. “If ye do nae, ye’re sister will be taken.” Her voice cracked with anguish, with dread, with the weight of what she feared. Freya shuddered, a violent tremor that rippled through her body like a strong wind. “And she’ll wish… she’ll wish to the gods for death. ”

My heart banged to get out of my chest. “Who’s coming? Who comes to my stronghold? Who will take my sister?”

Freya’s eyes locked on mine, her gaze so bright and fierce that I wanted to look away until the intensity burned itself out, but I didn’t. I held her stare. “Bran. Bran comes. Yer sister will think to sacrifice herself to save yer clan.” She blinked then, almost as though purging the sight from within herself, and when she opened her eyes, they had returned to their normal color. She pulled her hand away, the warmth of her touch gone cold. “Ye are my enemy.”

Her words struck with their truth.

Her gaze became a dark accusation, as if daring me to deny her words. “I ken who ye are now.”

I nodded. I had learned long ago the power in silence. To hold your tongue was sometimes to wield a sharpened blade. To wait was often to conquer.

“Consider my debt to ye paid,” she tossed the words like stones. “Ye intervened for me, and now I have done the same.”

“This debt is done,” I replied, choosing my words with care, measured and deliberate. There were other debts that I could not wipe clean. Debts of death. And destruction.

I gripped the bars with my hands, my temples throbbing with the urge to be released. “Let me out.”

“Nae without yer vow that ye will leave peacefully and nae take me with ye.” Her voice was softer, almost tender, but no, she was negotiating.

“I can nae give that vow.”

“Then ye will die,” she fired back and locked her eyes with mine. “My da will take yer head. Ye can count upon that. Yer refusal to give yer vow will damn yer sister to a life of pain and suffering.” Her words were a quick, sharp volley .

I did not want to give that vow, because I knew if I did, I would keep it.

“Ye waste precious time ye could be reaching yer sister.”

She knew exactly how to prod me to take what she offered, give what she demanded. “I give ye my word,” I bit out between clenched teeth, feeling them grind.

She pulled out a dagger. “In case ye forget yer vow—”

“I’ll nae.” The words were a bitter vow upon my lips.

She pointed the dagger at me. “I will gut ye if ye do.”

The lass was surprisingly ferocious. “I have nary a doubt ye’d try. But I am a man of my word.”

“Ye’re a MacDonald, so I doubt that verra much, but given yer sister’s life is at stake, I will take yer word this time. Behind the dungeon door is a secret path. Take it. It will lead ye to an underground tunnel that will take ye all the way to the loch. With the festival going on, yer departure will go unnoticed.”

I needed to find Connor, but I’d keep that information to myself.

She turned the key and opened the door, raising her dagger and backing away. “Do nae tarry,” she warned, turned and gasped at the site of Connor standing there.

He stepped toward her, as if to grab her. “Nay, brother,” I called out. “I gave my word. Go on now, lass.”

She didn’t hesitate. She raced up the stairs and was gone.

“Ye’re a fool,” he thundered. “She was in our grasp.”

“Aye,” I agreed. “But if my word can nae be trusted, I’m as bad as MacLeod and his stepson.”

“Yer honor will cost us Eilean Donnan,” Connor growled.

“I hope nae,” I replied, only just noticing that Connor had my sword sheathed with his. “How did ye get my sword?” I asked.

“I did nae,” he replied, unsheathing it and extending it to me. “’Twas at the top of the stairs by the dungeon door. Do ye think the lass—”

“Aye,” I interrupted. Not only had she freed me, she’d tried to ensure I would escape with my life. I owed her. I just didn’t know when or how the debt would be called in.