Highland Brides 03 - On Bended Knee (30 page)

A stupid man with no bloody plan, that was what he thought he was.

The Sassenach leader raised his sword. “Ye want him back?” he railed. “I’ll give him back!” He motioned to his men to restrain Broc, which they did easily enough, though Broc gave them a fight. “I’ll toss you his head and ye can carry it as a message for the MacKinnon! FitzSimon wants his daughter back, and he’ll not leave without her!” He spun toward Broc and raised his sword.

“Nay!” Colin shouted. “Don’t! Take me instead!”

The man stopped, and stared in his direction. “Why should I care which of your heads I remove?”

He had no idea where the hell it came from. “Because Iain MacKinnon is my brother!” Colin lied.

Broc tried to raise his head—in shock, Colin knew—but they kept him restrained.

But his lie had caught the leader’s attention. “His brother, ye say?”

“Aye!” Colin lied again, this time with more resolve.

“If that is true, why should ye wish to give yourself in return for this man?”

“Because he has a woman who would mourn him, and I have not!”

“Colin!” Broc shouted, enraged that they restrained him still, furious that he was helpless amidst so many. “Dinna do this! Ye canna trust the bastards!”

“Let him go!” Colin reasoned with them, ignoring Broc. “Let him go and I will drop my bow and walk out in plain sight in trade for his life!”

“What assurances have we that you’ll not turn and run?”

“Because I give you my word as a MacKinnon,” Colin replied, and thought he must be half mad.

“Not good enough!” the Sassenach declared. “A Scotsman has no honor—and a MacKinnon even less!”

“And do you?” Colin countered. “You’re using a wee lass to fight a man’s battles! And if ye dinna let him go,” Colin bluffed, “you will be the first man to die! I’m an excellent marksman!”

Silence.

Colin persisted. “If you’ll release him, I’ll drop my bow and come stand where you can see me,” he offered, making note that they had no bows, only swords.

By Jacob’s stone—he was surely insane.

“Colin, nay!” Broc shouted. “Dinna be a stupid bastard! They’ll kill us both!”

“Nay,” Colin argued, shouting back at Broc. “They willna… because they no longer have Constance to barter with, nor Cameron either. They need to send a messenger back to Iain with their offer and the two of us are all they have! Let him go!” he persisted, shouting his demand at FitzSimon’s men. “And ye can keep me as your hostage, instead!”

The man considered it a long moment. And during that moment, the moorland was an echo of silence. The druid stones stood witness to his insanity.

Colin grit his teeth as he waited.

“And ye say ye are the MacKinnon’s brother?” the Sassenach leader shouted finally.

“Aye!” Colin replied, and hoped to hell that Broc would not call him a liar.

He suddenly
needed
to do this.

All his life he had taken, taken, taken—Seana was right. He had never given anything to anyone without expecting something in return. For once, he wanted to do something selfless. He wanted to show her he had changed.

Silence answered him.

His chest pounded, and his palms began to sweat. In truth, he had no one to mourn him. But Seana would mourn Broc and Colin’s life would not have been lost for naught if Broc would return to her. He had no delusions. He knew the chances of staying alive were minimal. Iain was hardly going to give up his bride, not for Broc or Colin either. Either of their lives would be forfeit. Colin’s was more expendable.

Damn, but it was.

“Very well!” the Sassenach agreed. “Show yourself!”

Bloody hell.

What assurances did he have they wouldn’t kill them both? Broc was right.

“Drop your bow,” the man demanded, and Colin grimaced, wishing he truly did have one. He’d have given them each a hearty farewell.

“Release Broc first!” Colin shouted at them. “Let him stand free of restraint and walk toward me!”

They let go of him, letting him rise. Colin could tell by Broc’s rigid stance that he was entirely opposed to Colin’s ruse. Colin stepped out from the trees, well aware that they couldn’t see him very clearly. But they could see him.

“Move away from them, Broc,” he directed.

Broc did so, but reluctantly. “You’re a stupid son of a whore, Colin! Stupid!”

“Mayhap so,” Colin agreed as he walked into the meadow, into plain view. “Walk toward me, Broc, and go tell Iain!”

Broc didn’t bother to peer back at his captors. He simply obeyed, coming toward Colin.

The Sassenach leader shouted at Broc. “Tell Iain MacKinnon that if he wants his brother back, he’ll hand over FitzSimon’s daughter. If he does not, his brother will surely die!”

Colin winced at the threat. God’s truth, MacKinnon wouldn’t be trading with FitzSimon. Colin was a dead man.

He passed Broc. “Tell Seana… tell her to remember what I told her.”

“Iain loves his wife,” Broc returned fervently to him in warning. You will die.”

“I know,” Colin confessed, and continued to walk toward FitzSimon’s men, not wanting to give them reason to go back on their word. The trade was tenuous at best, and they were watching warily, ready to fight if the need arose. He and Broc might make a run for safety, but neither of them were willing to risk the other—at least Colin was not and Broc seemed to sense it.

“This is not your battle, Colin!” Broc hissed at his back, stopping and turning to give him another opportunity to change his mind. “Run—both of us now! We might make it!”

“And we might not. Seana loves you,” Colin said calmly, without turning. “Treat her well, Broc.”

FitzSimon’s men rushed forward suddenly, pouncing on him like rabid wolves.

The Sassenach leader raised his sword, hitting him with its butt. And the last thing Colin heard before he crumpled to the ground, was Broc at a distance, shouting…

“You’ll bloody well pay for that ye gadamned bastards!”

Then he saw Seana’s smile… her hair black as midnight and those luminous eyes.

It was a grand moment, one that would be remembered for ages to come, for it was the time all feuds were set aside to come together and stand united—the MacKinnons, and Brodies, and Montgomeries, and MacLeans.

They were gathered together, all of them, in the meadow where Colin had been taken, surrounded by the great stones that had been carved by their forefathers. MacKinnons were seated with MacLeans, whose feud had begun long before anyone could remember, and had escalated with the death of Dougal MacLean’s eldest daughter Mairi. She had flung herself from a window rather than bear her husband’s touch, it was said. And the Brodies were conferring with Montgomerie—the Sassenach lord who had dared to come into their midst and steal Mad Meghan Brodie from beneath her brothers’ noses in retribution for a stolen goat.

And then there was Seana… who belonged to none of these clans, and yet felt a part of all of them, somehow.

“How many are they that we should tread so lightly?” Dougal MacLean, laird of the MacLeans, asked. “Look about you, Iain! Together we would crush them beneath our feet!”

Iain MacKinnon stood in the center of the united clans. His was by far the strongest of these highland tribes. Descended of the powerful sons of MacAlpin, he had long been the unspoken leader of them all. Neither Dougal MacLean, nor any of the Brodies, nor any of the other clans would confess it, but they gave him deference even so. It was evident in the way they had gathered about him now, forming a circle of sorts to hear his counsel. Even Montgomerie, who had not been born to this history, gave him his due respect.

FitzSimon’s daughter sat quietly at the MacKinnon’s side, her expression stricken, and full of concern. Her husband’s hand lay beneath her hair, caressing her neck unconsciously as he considered Dougal’s proclamation.

The gathering cheered Dougal’s words, echoing his sentiments, each spouting some dire tragedy sure to befall FitzSimon and his men.

Leith Mac Brodie leapt upon a stone suddenly. “’Tis my brother he holds!” He shouted over their din. “’Tis easy enough for all o’ ye to say such things when ‘it is not your own flesh and blood that would be spilled! If we take him as ye wish to, what’s to stop the bloody bastard from murdering my brother?”

Seana’s heart wrenched at the truth of his words.

She clutched at her chest with a hand, and tried not to weep before all these people. Och, but she could not bear it… if she never had the chance to tell him she loved him.

Aye, she knew now that he loved her too. He had sacrificed himself when he did not have to. He might have simply gone to get help, unarmed as he’d been. Most men would have, Seana was convinced. But Colin had stepped forward, saving Broc’s life, and risking his own so Seana might have Broc returned to her.

“He willna know what struck him!” Dougal countered. “I say we take him whilst he sleeps and slit his Sassenach throat!”

“Nay!” Meghan protested. She stood and appealed to the gathering. “I will not let you bear my brother’s blood upon your hands!” She began to sob and her husband took her into his arms, consoling her.

Tears pricked at Seana’s eyes.

She was torn with so many emotions: She wanted to go and comfort Meghan, wanted to be comforted as well, and yet she didn’t even truly have a say in how this was to be fought. She swallowed hard.

Iain MacKinnon had moved behind his wife. He held her by the shoulders, squeezing them in a consoling gesture. “We are strong enough,” he interjected. The crowd hushed though he had not raised his voice. “To take FitzSimon per force…” His gaze met Dougal MacLean’s, then Leith Brodie’s, and finally Montgomerie’s. “But at what price?” he asked them all collectively. He turned to MacLean. “What is your stake in this?” he asked the elder laird.

Dougal MacLean frowned in response. “I want no Sassenachs upon my land!” he answered finally.

The gathering remained silent. A few echoed his sentiments with simple nods, but no one else spoke out.

Page FitzSimon spoke then, her expression filled with pain and sorrow. “My father will… he will not hesitate… to kill Colin.”

Her husband drew her against him protectively. Whatever anyone felt for her father, it was clear that Iain MacKinnon would not tolerate its direction at her.

The mood between them became more somber still.

Iain MacKinnon turned, then, to Leith Brodie. “We understand ye want him returned to ye unharmed, Leith… it only seems we’ve no choice. From experience I know that FitzSimon is ruthless.” He glanced down at his wife.

Any man who, when speaking of his own daughter, could say, “keep her or kill her, I care not which” was not to be underestimated.

Leith’s jaw remained clenched. The anger, clearly written upon his face.

“It should have been me,” Broc Ceannfhionn declared, standing up beside his laird. He faced Leith Mac Brodie, then Dougal. “I do not know the best way to do this, but if it were me… I would want to live to see that bastard die!”

Page gasped softly, her hand flying to her mouth, and Broc realized, belatedly, the import of his words.

No matter what else he was, he was still her father first.

“Och, he doesna deserve ye, Page,” he said quietly, though only Seana and Iain might have heard his awkward apology.

Tears welled in Page’s eyes. “This is all my fault!” she declared, her tone filled with regret.

“Nay!” Iain said. “It is not!” And he shook her gently, as though trying to persuade her to believe it. “It is not!” he told her once more.

Seana met Page’s gaze, and she dared to reach out and place her hand upon Page’s hand. “It is not your fault,” she said, and meant it truly. “Ye canna be blamed for what your father does or doesna do.”

Page smiled softly and turned her hand to accept Seana’s gesture. They sat there, holding hands, then, and Seana’s heart twisted with agony over Colin.

Page somehow interpreted Seana’s wretched expression.

“You love him?” Page asked in whisper.

Seana nodded, tears in her eyes, her heart in her throat.

Page gave her hand a little squeeze.

“Well, he risked his life for me,” Broc said to the gathering, “I’ll not be a party to sacrificing his!”

“We’ll bloody well not barter with him either!” his laird said, holding his wife close, looking as frustrated as everyone else.

They had gone round and round with this discussion all morning and were getting nowhere. Seana knew everyone was feeling as helpless as she was. She only wished there were something she could do. She couldn’t stand the thought of losing Colin, and loathed this feeling of utter helplessness.

There must be something they could do…

There must be something
she
could do…

Och, but she couldn’t just sit about like some witless fool and lose him forever whilst these men debated his fate. None of them could agree on a plan, and nobody seemed inclined to do anything at all until they all agreed together. As Seana saw it, they were losing precious time. If FitzSimon thought his opportunity was lost, he would kill Colin and flee.

“I need a bloody drink!” auld Angus declared suddenly. “We all do,” he added when everyone turned to look at him.