Angel of Skye (44 page)

Drummond Castle, October 1502

Spare my child, Margaret prayed. Holy mother, don’t hold my sins against my innocent child. I know I am not worthy of your favor. But please grant me this. Protect her from this evil.

The brute holding the mother’s wrists was twisting them viciously, and Torquil MacLeod was crossing the room toward her when the door of the nursery opened. Margaret turned her head and watched as her uncle, tall and cool, glided into the room. Everything in her vision was so clear, every sensation magnified, every detail etched with crystalline precision. In his hand he carried a small blue bottle that he casually placed on the table.

“
Margaret,” he began, turning abruptly, fixing his ice blue eyes on her face. “Your household is finished, your child is at our mercy, and your man is a day’s ride from here.”

The look of alarm that she could not keep from flashing across her face brought a malevolent smile to his. “Aye, in accordance with my own cleverly conceived plan, the king has been gulled into stopping, waiting as we speak, for an emissary from England who will never appear. A fool is always a fool. He simply trusts me.”

An evil laugh rumbled from Torquil MacLeod as the highlander moved behind his leader. Andrew never even glanced at him, but crossed to Margaret and removed the gag that stopped her mouth.

“
Now, niece,” he commanded, taking her chin in his hand. “Give me what is mine, and give it to me now.”

“
Never,” she whispered defiantly. “Traitor. Murderer.”

Andrew raised his hand to strike her, but caught himself, lowering his fist. “Do not think you can escape my wrath, Margaret. You will give me what is mine.”

“
You can torture me until—“

“
Nay, lass,” he broke in, his eyes reflecting the malice in his soul. “It isn’t you who will be tortured. It is your bastard child.”

“
You won’t,” Margaret cried, terror flashing across her face. “She’s just a bairn. Even a monster like you—“

“
Ah, yes. A monster like me.” Andrew paused and stared grimly at her. “Shall I bring her back up here? We’d intended to keep her. Just another lever to prod the king. But if she must die—and so painfully—simply because her own mother would not give me a trinket that she’d stolen from me…”

He let his words trail off in the deadly silence of the room. Margaret closed her eyes to the searing pain. In her heart she knew, no matter what, Fiona’s chance of surviving this was practically nil, and the thought of it drove a white hot shaft through her heart.

“
Spare your daughter, Margaret. Spare her the—“

At the pounding on the door, Gray whirled toward the sound. The knight that pushed breathlessly into the room halted at the sight before him.

“
What do you want?” Andrew snapped.

“
M’lord. A troop of riders. Coming up the glen. From the torches, it looks like over a hundred.”

“
Andrew,” Margaret breathed, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Her uncle whirled on her.

“
Aye. Huntly,” she shot at him defiantly. “You’re finished, you demon! What James is too trusting to see, Andrew will avenge. You’ll not be able to get away. Not this time. I sent for him. He’ll make you pay.”

Andrew Gray stared vaguely at her for the briefest of moments, and then the glimmer returned to his eyes.

“
Not quite yet, bitch,” he spat. “By the time the meddling fool gets here, Torquil and his men will be gone. And I will be grief-struck at having just found your dead body.”

“
Nay…”

“
You are about to meet death at your own hand, niece.” He removed the stopper from the bottle.

Gripping her chin in his hand, he lifted it roughly and poured the poison down her throat. Stepping back, he watched as Margaret’s face turned white, her eyes suddenly brilliant.

“
God will forgive me, Andrew Gray. But you…” Her legs were beginning to quiver. Her breathing was becoming difficult. “Spare Fiona, uncle.”

“
Where is the ring?” His face was steeled. His eyes were ice.

Margaret sank to the floor, numbness sweeping through her body. “You will pay for your evil. My friend will avenge me.”

“
Where Is The Ring?”

Her tongue felt swollen, and she could hear her words slurring.

“
Andrew. My friend will av…”

Lord Gray raised his hand. “Give it to me.”

As she shook her head in defiance, his hand came up and took her throat in a vise-like grip, nearly lifting her from the floor.

The movement by the door drew Fiona’s eyes, and she felt his grasp slacken as his head turned to see Huntly charging across the floor toward him. Slapping his arm away with all her force, Fiona spun clear of him as Gray drew his sword to meet Huntly’s approach.

“You killed her!” Huntly roared, his sword crashing down on the larger man’s steel. Gasping for air, Fiona gaped at the earl’s pale face, livid with rage, as he swung his sword again at the murderer.

This time Gray ducked out of the way, spinning down the wall away from Fiona. In a shower of sparks, Huntly’s blade shattered as it struck the wall, and Gray’s return blow knocked the stunned earl to the floor. Moving over him, Andrew Gray placed the point of his sword against his enemy’s throat.

“This will be even better,” he snarled. “Attacking my niece. Too bad I couldn’t arrive in time to stop you from pushing her over the ledge. I had no chance to stop you, but in killing you, I was at least able to avenge her. It was only justice.”

As he raised his arm to strike, Fiona rushed at him, her dirk in hand. With a sweep of his arm, he deflected her blow, sending her staggering across the room. As she fell, the ring flew noisily across the floor landing at her uncle’s feet.

Andrew, Lord Gray turned his pale, blue eyes covetously downward to where the ring lay. The crown above the lions glinted for him. Again, his plans would move forward. With Huntly gone, another step closer to the absolute power he so richly deserved. To the crown. His crown. An insane and malevolent smile crept across his face as he began to reach for the ring. For his ring.

It was his final mistake.

The room burst open as Alec exploded through the open door. Lord Gray’s expression turned from triumph to terror as he saw the young warlord scan the room, his eyes lingering momentarily on his fallen wife.

Rage flashed across Alec’s face as he turned his gaze on Andrew. Gray lifted his sword to deflect the oncoming blade, but the force of Alec’s blow cut down his weapon and ripped through the bones and sinew of the attacker, driving Gray to the floor in the final throes of death.

Fiona watched as her mother’s murderer twitched, his fingers stretching desperately toward the ring that lay just out of his grasp.

And then he was dead, his blue eyes glazing in a cold stare toward eternity.

“…even though beneath the flowers thorns do lie,

in you, my friend, I have always had a protector…a

champion to tear our by the roots those iniquitous barbs.

Alas, that I should deserve such a friend…”

—Margaret Drummond, “
Letter to Huntly
”

“I came to her,” Huntly told Fiona and Alec. “But I was too late. She was dead...and you were gone.”

The three sat in Alec’s workroom, and Huntly leaned forward in his chair, staring at his hands as he spoke. In his hand he held the carefully folded letter he had worn next to his heart for so many years. The letter from Fiona’s mother.

Margaret Drummond had written to Lord Huntly, knowing him to be the one man in the world who could bring justice down on her traitorous uncle. She had asked him to come to Drummond Castle, where she would provide proof of the identity of the assassin of King James III. Fearing interception of the letter, Margaret had not dared the mention the name of the killer.

“Looking at her lifeless body twisted on the floor, into her eyes that spoke even in death, I went mad with anger and grief. I was frustrated that I had been too slow to stop what had happened. I tore the old castle apart, looking for some trace of the proof Margaret had spoken of. For the evidence that would prove she hadn’t taken her own life. That she’d been murdered. Oh, for a long time I’d had my suspicions of Gray’s involvement in treacherous death of old King Jamie, but I had nothing to bring to your father. He was distraught at the loss of you and your mother, and he could not bring himself to believe any kin of Margaret’s could be capable of wrongdoing. In fact, there was probably no one he suspected more than me. After all, how I felt about your mother was no secret to anyone.”

Fiona reached over and took one of his hands. “Please forgive me, m’lord. You see, I suspected you, as well.”

Huntly smiled at her and squeezed her hand. “I loved your mother, Fiona. And I know she cared for me. Trusted me. She valued me as a friend. I hope you will, too.”

Fiona’s smile was brilliant when her hazel eyes found his. “I’ll treasure it always.”

The warm breeze that caressed the earl’s face came from nowhere. It was the softest of touches. A gentle sign, bringing a feeling of great peace that went straight to his heart. And then he heard Margaret’s voice, drifting toward him through a silvery mist. “Thank you, my friend. Thank you.”

He turned toward the sound, but she was gone.

Dunvegan Castle, the Isle of Skye, 1526

The MacLeod heir held up Rory Mor’s Horn with two hands.

The silent hush filled the crowded hall. Lord Macpherson poured the claret into the horn. It took a whole pitcher and half to fill the ancestral drinking cup. Malcolm pushed back his long brown hair from his handsome face and brought the ancient vessel to his lips. He knew what he had to do—all at once, no setting it down, no falling down, not a drop missed.

He took a deep breath and drained the ritual cup in one draught.

The clan went wild with cheers and laughter.

Alec raised his hands for silence.

“Your new laird,” the warlord shouted.

The hall erupted again with cheers and people rushed to the dais, clapping Malcolm MacLeod hard on the back. But the young leader at that moment had eyes for only two people. He turned and faced the man and the woman whom he cherished more than life itself.

He embraced Alec, who had been a father to him. Who had taught him the values of life, of benevolent rule. Alec, who had kept his promises of bringing prosperity and trade to the people of Skye, while continuing to guide his own clan.

Then Malcolm turned to Fiona, who sat quietly smiling amid the uproar. The young man could see the pride radiating from her beautiful hazel eyes, and she stood as he drew her to him.

Fiona felt his strong arms close around her. He was so tall and broad. So different from the scared little boy who had been brought back the Priory so many years before. He belonged here. The times were changing, and Malcolm was prepared—physically and mentally—for the challenges that lay ahead for him.

She looked back at Father Jack, who stepped forward and laid the dark box on the table. She pulled back from Malcolm’s embrace and glanced at her husband, who was gazing intently into the crowd.

Following his eyes, Fiona caught a glimpse of the old man’s blue robe just disappearing behind a throng of tall and boisterous youths. She continued to look, but she knew old James was gone. He’d been gone for a long time, now.

Fiona looked back at Alec.

“Malcolm will be fine,” Alec said quietly. “Old James is watching over him.”

She smiled gently and nodded.

Father Jack raised his hand to the gathered clan and beckoned to Fiona. She moved to the table and opened the box.

The silence in the room was deep and profound, and all eyes were on her as she drew the ancient banner from its resting place.

Gasps could be heard as the clan members recognized the long lost, long hidden Am Bratach Sith—the Fairy Flag.

Wrapping the yellowed cloth around Malcolm’s shoulders, Fiona smiled broadly when the hall once again exploded with excitement, and Malcolm was lifted to the shoulders of his people and carried triumphantly around the room.

Over the sound of the bagpipes and the singing crowd, Alec slipped his arm around Fiona and spoke into her ear. “Well, my love. Is it time to go home?”

“Aye, Alec,” she responded, squeezing him tightly. “Do you think our little angels have leveled Benmore Castle yet?”

“If you are talking about the same little imps we left there, the chances are fairly good the place is in ruins.”

“Our boys are not imps, Alec Macpherson.”

“You’re right, Fiona. They’re just like their mother.” Alec smiled into Fiona’s loving face. “I just wonder how many of my falcons they’ve set free...this time.”

Our 16th Century books...

In
The Thistle and the Rose
, Colin Campbell and Celia Muir are introduced...

And we also introduce Alec Macpherson, who is the hero of our second book,
Angel of Skye
...

Alec has two brothers, Ambrose and John, who are the heroes of
Heart of Gold
and
The Beauty of the Mist
, respectively...

In
Angel of Skye
, we also introduce a little boy, Malcolm MacLeod, and in
Heart of Gold
we introduce a little girl, Jaime...

When Malcolm MacLeod and Jaime grow up, they are the hero and heroine of
The Intended
...

In
Heart of Gold
, we also introduce Gavin Kerr, who becomes the hero of
Flame.
..

In
Flame
, we introduce a number of characters who show up in
The Dreamer, The Enchantress,
and
The Firebrand
(the
Highland Treasure Trilogy
), including John Stewart, the earl of Athol and a number of villains...

The Highland Treasure Trilogy
is the story of three sisters...Catherine Percy of
The Dreamer
, Laura Percy of
The Enchantress
, and Adrianne Percy of
The Firebrand
...