Legacy of the Mist Clans Box Set (60 page)

Legacy of the Mist Clans: Book III

By

Kathryn Loch

Amazon Box set Edition

March 1306

Glen Gyle, Clan MacGrigor

Scottish Highlands

A
idan MacGrigor sprinted for all he was worth across the green rolling fields, arms and legs pumping rhythmically, his cloak streaming out behind him. The cold air threatened to cause his aching lungs to spasm. He glanced over his shoulder as the six English knights-errant on horseback crested the rise behind him, closing fast. Damnation, they would be on him soon. Despite his burning muscles, he pushed himself even harder.

The rumbling of their hooves grew louder. He heard the horses snorting, the rattle of their armor, the brigands’ shouts as they exhorted their mounts to greater speed.

He crested another rise and sucked in a ragged breath, diving for the cover he knew would be there. He slid into a four-foot-deep cut formed by water runoff and crashed into a clansman.

“Ho there,” Connell said, catching him, but his momentum knocked the man backward. Robert grabbed them both and steadied them.

“Delivered as ye wished,” Aidan said between gulps of air.

Robert looked down the cut and whistled sharply.

Muscles quivering, unwilling to support him, Aidan struggled to stand, grateful for Robert and Connell holding his arms. He looked down the thirty-foot-long cut filled with twenty kinsmen and clan members, all armed with a variety of weapons, all crouching in wait for the order.

Ronan, laird of Clan MacGrigor, a giant of a man, appeared suddenly on top of the embankment. The cowl of his cloak was pulled low; its length billowed behind him in the chill breeze. He wore his claymore slung across his back, a jewel in its hilt sparkled in the muted morning light. Ronan folded his arms over his massive chest, his countenance brutal and terrifying.

The brigands crested the last hill.

“That’s my brother ye be chasing,” Ronan snarled.

“The Demon Laird!” one of the brigands cried, trying to stop his horse. But they had too much momentum cresting the rise of the hill. A couple of the horses tried to obey their riders and stop, but the majority simply did what they were trained to do. Charge.

“MacGrigor!” Ronan bellowed as he lifted his claymore.

The kinsmen in the ditch answered his battle cry. Those standing in the center grabbed huge pikes and staves, waiting for the charging horses.

The others on the sides drew their weapons, leapt out of the cut, and charged, flanking the knights as they closed.

When the horses saw the pikes, they tried violently to stop, throwing their weight back on their haunches and sliding. But it was too late; protected by the ditch, the Scots shoved pikes and staves up and out. Those closing on the flanks easily pulled riders from their mounts.

Connell, his sword fisted in his hand, vaulted from the ditch as a horse before them impaled itself on a pike. It squealed hideously as it died and slid toward the ditch. Robert jerked on Aidan’s arm, pulling him out of the way of the beast as it crashed forward. Connell pounced on the brigand still trapped in his saddle with his leg pinned under the horse. His sword easily decapitated the man.

The brigands who had managed to control their horses closed, able to avoid the pikes. Unfortunately for them, in doing so, they lost the momentum of their charge. Connell grabbed one, trying to pull him from his saddle, but the brigand did not come loose easily. He lifted his sword.

Without thinking, Aidan lunged out of the ditch, his own sword in hand, and blocked the brigand’s blow descending on Connell’s head. Aidan opened the man’s guard as Connell attacked, shoving his blade into the man’s ribs, killing him instantly.

Aidan turned, but the fight was already over. Six English brigands and a couple of horses lay dead on the field.

There were three horses uninjured. Those were quickly caught to be added to Laird MacGrigor’s stables along with any armor and weapons they could gather. One horse stood, unwilling to move, unwilling to put weight on one of its forelegs. Ronan checked the animal, shook his head, and drew his dagger, slaying the beast.

“Bloody shame, but its leg was broken.”

Aidan’s pulse still rattled and he bent with his hands on his knees as he continued to try to catch his breath.

Ronan approached and eyed him critically. “Ye be getting slower in yer old age.”

“Ye be older than I,” Aidan shot back as he straightened. He squared his shoulders, looking his brother dead in the eye. He was only an inch shorter than Ronan, and his build matched his brother’s.

“And ye dinna see me running around like a damned fool.”

Aidan rolled his eyes at him. “Ye wanted them lured here, I lured them.”

Ronan laughed and slapped Aidan’s back. “Aye, brother, they be nothing more than bloody bastards endangering our roads. I’m glad tae be rid of them.”

Aidan nodded, also pleased they were able to end the threat. Knights-errant were not landed, thus they had no source of income, and these had resorted to banditry. After Longshanks defeated the Scots holding Stirling Castle, many had deserted his army and resorted to plaguing travelers on the roads.

“I’ll no’ abide them setting foot on my holdings,” Ronan growled. “Especially after they slew Laird MacNab’s son when the family could no’ produce the ransom quickly enough.”

“People are terrified of them,” Aidan said and nodded. “I’ve heard rumors they’ve burned peasants from their homes and raped women.”

“I’ll no’ have them doing that here.” Ronan stepped away and the other clansmen joined him, leaving the field.

Aidan paused and looked back at the dead they had left, another memory of death trying to rise, but he forced it down. “Ye called down the thunder,” he whispered.

“Aidan,” Ronan barked. “Ye coming?”

“Aye,” Aidan said and hurried after his brother.

HHH

They arrived an hour later at Castle MacGrigor. Aidan breathed a sigh of relief. His muscles still trembled with exhaustion. Ronan was right. He was getting too damned old for this. As they entered the barbican to shouts of welcome, he spotted Ronan’s wife, Lia, standing at the base of the stairs. She smiled warmly as they entered, and when Ronan dismounted from his horse, she threw herself into his arms.

Aidan swallowed hard, his heart paining him for some unknown reason. Lia was a healer of no small talent . . . and the reason why his brother was not only alive but was of sound heart and mind after the English had tortured him.

Ronan laughed and spun her around.

Lia matched his laugh with one of her own but protested. “Ronan, please.”

He quickly placed her on her feet, his expression growing concerned. “Forgive me, lass. I dinna mean tae upset ye or the bairn.”

She rolled her eyes at him, but she was smiling. “We’re fine, you overprotective fool. I can see you will drive me daft before this is finished.”

Despite their happiness, Lia had been slow to quicken with child, but a few days ago she had announced her breeding. Ronan was overjoyed but also beside himself with worry. Aidan shook his head. It was going to be a long nine months.

Lia paused and looked at the group. “Are there any wounded?”

“Nay,” Ronan said and winked at Aidan. “Thanks tae my brother, we ended the threat easily and quietly.”

Aidan swung down from his horse and staggered, grateful that Connell grabbed his arm and steadied him.

“Aidan?” Lia asked. In an instant, she was at his side.

He shook his head, amazed that she could move so quickly when it came to wounded or healing.

“I’m fine, lassie,” he said. He looked down at her and again his heart pained him. What the hell was wrong with him?

“If you’re certain,” she said but studied him in such a fashion that he knew she didn’t believe him.

“I am.” He gave her an encouraging smile he did not feel.

“Come inside. I have dinner prepared.”

Aidan’s smile became genuine. The lassie could cook like none other. He gave her a slight bow, and she returned to Ronan, who offered his arm.

Aidan followed two paces behind. For some reason, Ronan and Lia’s behavior today seemed inordinately curious to him. He tried to determine what it was; they were acting as they had every day since their wedding, ridiculously besotted with each other. Aidan had a few friends who had married, and the moment the infatuation ended, everyone knew, for many times he had seen the giddy couple suddenly fighting with a fury that would cow even a rabid wolf and make him run for cover.

That’s what he had found curious; he had been certain the newness of marriage would wear off any day. But while they argued occasionally, and Aidan had seen Ronan frustrated beyond belief while watching Lia turn bright red in the face, their arguments never turned ugly, and they never stayed mad at each other for any length of time.

It was absolutely baffling.

Ronan sat in his chair at the high table with Lia next to him. Aidan watched him cover her hand with his as he spoke, no doubt telling her of the morning’s skirmish. He was relaxed, unsmiling, but there was an intensity about his expression that Aidan struggled to identify. He knew his brother well, and when his emotions got the best of him, he could hide the fact from others, but not from Aidan.

Watching him now, Aidan thought back to when he had escaped from his English captors and Aidan had brought him home. Dear God, he had suffered so terribly Aidan never imagined that his brother would ever give in to death. But he had been so very close, his soul tormented, it was a miracle he continued to breathe at this moment.

Aidan would never forget the terror in Ronan’s eyes when he struggled to determine hallucination from reality, when he did not know where he was, when he thought the man who tortured him was still in the room with him.

Then Aidan realized what it was, the expression, the look in his eyes: Ronan was not only happy in his life but treasured all he had gained since that day. The hope had returned to him, and it was his experience of how close he had come to losing his life and his sanity that was now an armor that protected him from the folly life could throw at him.

Aidan shook his head. How he wished he knew something of the peace his brother had found. But he had walked through hell first in order to find it.

Ronan gestured with his hand, an exaggerated movement that made Lia giggle as he spoke. No doubt he was spinning tall tales as well, making the encounter much grander than it was. God, he was getting sick to his stomach. Aidan rolled his eyes and strode to the stairs. He wanted to get cleaned up after running hither and yon like a bloody rabbit this morn.

He entered his room, throwing open the door. It smacked against the foot of his bed and instantly rebounded back, headed straight for his noise. Bloody hell! He threw up his hands and stopped the door in time, then kicked it for good measure and nearly howled as pain shot through his foot. Barely reining in his temper, he managed to squeeze through his door and into his tiny room.

The bed was scarcely large enough for him. His feet usually hung over the edge. But it was because of the bed that the door wouldn’t open all the way. There was a table barely big enough for two crammed into the corner. He had tried to keep two chairs before it but got sick of tripping over them, so had tossed one out long ago.

Near the foot of his bed was a small chest that contained his clothing. It was wedged against the wall, but if Aidan tried to walk in the dark, he inevitably knocked his shin against the bloody thing. It had painfully sharp edges too. He could barely open the lid enough to get his clothing out before it hit the wall and refused to go any farther. If he had a gold piece for every time the lid had slammed shut on his hand, he would own his own plot of land and probably have a good-sized tower house on it too.

Above him, an archer loophole allowed a bit of light in, but he kept it shuttered because of the rain, and it was too much trouble to constantly open and close the shutters.

He forced down his frustration and took a deep, calming breath. The problem was he hated this room simply because it was so small. It was one thing when he had been a growing lad, but once he reached his full height, he injured himself more in this cramped space than he did in combat. He found himself feeling as if he would suffocate if he stayed here too long. At least at night he could tumble into bed and quickly fall asleep, but that wasn’t enough because upon the dawn, he was practically clawing his way through the door in his desire to be free of it. Not a response he should be having considering many times his quest to learn information kept him in dark, confined spaces for a goodly amount of time. He never felt uncomfortable during those times, only in here, but he worried the panic might take hold when and where he could least afford it.

He abruptly sat on his bed with a heavy sigh and rubbed his eyes. Why was he allowing this to boil his blood? He knew there was no changing it. This tiny room was his and always would be, no matter how many times he bruised his shins.

Aidan’s gaze traveled over the walls that were so close he could stretch his arms out and touch both at the same time. Aye, he hated this room, but he should be thankful to have it. The alternative would have been torture to a man such as himself. Aidan had had a far different future when he was lad, until a fateful day long ago that had started as normal as any other.

His da’s enraged bellow sounded perfectly clear in his memory . . . 

 Young Aidan scuffled with Ronan, Connell, and Robert. It was still very playful, but Aidan knew one of their tempers would slip shortly. He had discovered he could sometimes provoke Robert and Ronan into fighting each other. Connell he could not prod so easily, but the other two were great fun to goad. Suddenly his da roared a bellow so great that Aidan was certain someone was impaled on his claymore.

The boys instantly stopped their horseplay, their faces pale, wondering what they had done now and how bad their punishment would be. Aidan listened intently at his da muttering, but his words did not make sense. He looked at his brother. “’Tis no’ us . . . nay, he would ne’er become that enraged with us.”