Mark of the Highlander (The MacLomain Series: Next Generation, Book 1) (13 page)

McKayla grinned, a smile that to this day caught him off guard. “There you have it, then. Sharing with him now might help break the ice.”

She’d always been able to lighten his mood. A smile. A word of encouragement. But lately her grin came less and less despite the start of a successful new career. Deep down he’d always known why and no doubt exasperated it by ‘staying in touch’ with her when he ‘moved across the country’. He’d broken her heart and hated himself for it. It didn’t matter that it was for her own good. 

When the hair she’d tucked behind her ear broke free, he tucked it back… like he’d always done before. His hand lingered, unable to pull away. Their gazes caught as always, in the unmistakable draw the two shared. Her smooth skin all but glowed in the low hung sun. Her soft locks a halo. And her lips, full, moist, tempting.

“Ah, there you are.”

McKayla pulled back.

“Aye, here we are,” Colin acknowledged, doing his best not to sound aggravated with Bradon. He fully expected his brother to make an appearance before they made it to their chamber. Some things didn’t change. And seeing his brother made it impossible not to cast a disgruntled glance in the direction of her ring...a ring whose stone just happened to match the color of his brother’s eyes.

“Good to see you again, lassie,” Bradon said to McKayla.

She offered a warm smile and nodded. Colin was pleased it wasn’t a blush. Because while she might think she was still single, she bloody well wasn’t.

“The men are meeting in the great hall to discuss your homecoming. Ma will be up shortly to finish showing McKayla around.”

Just then Arianna appeared on the wall walk. McKayla seemed all too happy to see her and vanished with a small wave and a nearly audible sigh of relief.

“She’s nothing like the doe-eyed lovelorn lass you left at the altar, aye brother?” Bradon remarked as they walked down the hall. “Mayhap this time you’ll be less inclined to leave the poor wee one to tear up on the rest of us.”

Colin did well not to flinch. He deserved that. Let’s see how much his brother would divulge. “And what became of the MacLeod lass?”

“Married off to another MacLomain of course.”

No sooner had Bradon said it when the lass they spoke of exited a chamber just ahead. Startled eyes locked with Colin’s. As he lived and breathed and as she’d vowed, Nessa MacLeod still stood within MacLomain walls. What the hell?

Bradon chuckled when the lass curtsied then vanished to whence she came. “Well, what did you imagine would happen?”

Not this. But he understood the importance of marriage pacts and one with their longtime enemy, the MacLeod’s, was needed. “Dare I ask who she married?”

“Need you? Only one lad would have made sense without you here.”

“Malcolm,” he said slowly. A new sense of dread settled over him.

“Indeed,” Bradon confirmed. “God knows
he
wouldnae let down his countrymen.”

While he hoped McKayla’s assessment of Malcolm’s distain might be right, merely a show for the clan, now he knew otherwise. They had spoken at length about Nessa MacLeod. Though stunning, with smooth dark looks, never was there a more vicious, manipulative and cunning woman to be had. It was hard to imagine his cousin thriving beneath her clever ministrations. And now it was even more impossible to hope Malcolm would ever forgive Colin for handing him such a fate.

Though the words soured his tongue he asked, “Have they any bairns then?”

“Nay.” Bradon’s interested gaze shot to Colin. “But not for lack of trying.”

Whether or not his brother believed him, any feelings he’d once harbored for the lass were long gone. He would have thought leaving her at the altar would make that clear.

Nothing more was said as they joined the others in the great hall. Colin didn’t need to use magic to know who would be waiting. William and Malcolm sat at a trestle table. His Da, plaid wrapped over his shoulders, sat in a chair before the fire. When his sons arrived, Iain made his way over and joined them at the table.

This meeting would be held so all could look him in the eye.

William sat at the head of the table, Malcolm and Bradon to his left, Colin and Iain to his right. Tankards were plunked down and even after the servant left, a heavy silence settled over the abandoned hall. No MacLomain clansman or woman need bear witness to such a crucial and no doubt unsettling family reunion.

As laird of the clan, William was first to speak. “As you all know Iain and I have forgiven Colin for leaving us three winters ago.” His gaze settled on Malcolm and Bradon. “Never would I force you to do the same. I do, however, expect a show of acceptance. Though it need not be when you’re alone it most certainly will be when around your clan. We have always stood united and that willnae change now.”

Arms crossed over his chest, Malcolm sat back, his steady gaze locked on Colin. Not put off in the least, Colin stared right back. As expected he saw no flicker of compassion in his cousin’s eyes. In fact, he barely recognized the man he once knew. He realized that there stood a very good chance that Nessa MacLeod had not only made his cousin bitter but corrupt.

Though Malcolm responded to William, his eyes remained on Colin. “Verra true, Da.
We
have always stood united. But
he
has not.”

Colin didn’t need to respond. His cousin spoke the truth. But he’d not cower and ask for forgiveness … again. Both Malcolm and Bradon possessed magic. They knew he meant what he’d said. If nothing else, they could see it in his eyes.

“Colin,” William said. “A good laird knows better than to assume and never gives up when it comes to keeping his clan as one.”

All eyes shot to William.

It seemed his uncle had read his mind. But why had he said such?

“You cannae mean to make him laird,” Malcolm said, eyes narrowed.

“Aye, ‘tis exactly what I intend. This verra eve I’ll give him the clan for all to bear witness. ‘Twill be done before the wedding.”

Colin sat up a little straighter. “Wedding?”

“Aye.” William took a sip of whiskey. “To the Broun lass from the future. Straight away.”

Oh, she wasn’t going to like that. Colin, however, wasn’t so opposed to where this discussion was heading. Except, that is, about becoming chieftain so soon. It wasn’t deserved in the least.

Before anyone could say a word William continued, “Which leads us to the actual reason for this meeting. Why Iain and I brought you and the lass here when we did.”

A slither of hair-raising trepidation raced up his spine.

“Do you really ken the clan you became involved with when away, lad?” Iain asked.

“Aye,” Colin said softly. “The Hamilton’s are little known in these parts but I’ve come to ken them well over these past few years.”

“Never could you have aligned yourself with a more dangerous sept,” Iain said. He shook his head and sipped from his tankard.

“And ‘tis just that, a sept,” William agreed. “Like you, a small group of them broke from their kin, those who delegated themselves worthy enough to assassinate their own countrymen. They have always been their own judge, jury and executioner.”

Colin never felt like he’d betrayed his father more so than when William’s words were uttered aloud. Iain, ever the contemplative warrior and former leader, remained silent. But Colin knew he felt the impact of the words, the simple and brutal picture they painted of his firstborn son. 

“Unfortunately,” William continued. “One of those who broke away from the Hamilton’s was son to their chieftain. That in itself wouldnae be so bad if of course—” His troubled gaze settled on Colin. “You hadn’t killed him.”

And so it began. Colin knew what would happen the moment he ran that blade across his mentor’s throat. War. Vengence. Revenge. In any order. The Hamilton’s were for lack of a better word, vicious. A thriving clan to the north, they’d never been amongst the MacLomain’s enemies but they’d never been allies either.

Malcolm took a long pull from his tankard but remained silent, choosing to glare at Colin, instead. Bradon, however, spoke up for the first time. “Do we share any allies with them? Is there middle ground to be had?”

“Verra few and those who are we’ll not draw into this,” William said. “Keir Hamilton is well-known for his ruthlessness and his unorthodox use of both light and dark magic.”

That was an understatement. Colin had met the man once. It was safe to say he had no desire to do so again. 

Bradon appeared to contemplate William’s words a few moments before something occurred to him. Incredulous, he asked, “He’s not
the
Keir Hamilton, is he? The one they say can summon a
deamhan
to do his bidding?”

“Aye,” Malcolm said, eyes churning with contempt. “Some even say he allowed his son to be possessed by one for no other reason than the power it gave him.” Turning his cup one fraction at a time on the wooden surface his eyes remained locked on Colin. “And if that was the case, what’s to say the
deamhan
didnae make its way into our lad when he murdered its host.”

So now his cousin thought to accuse him of being possessed by a demon? What a preposterous approach to discrediting Colin’s ability to rule. If the Scots were nothing else they were a superstitious lot and such a claim would sway the clan.

“Dinnae be ridiculous,” William said. “If your cousin had a beastie locked in him we’d know it.”

“Would we,” Malcolm stated, not particularly interested in an answer as he continued to study Colin. “None of us here possess enough of the dark magic to see one of its minions.”

“Nay, but Ferchar does,” Colin countered.

“Ferchar,” Malcolm murmured. “I’m curious. You traveled back and forth to the future for years. I find it interesting that Ferchar never mentioned seeing you there. Could it be he never really knew who you were?” His cousin tilted back his head in further contemplation. “And if that is the case, cousin, then your powers have indeed grown. Tenfold I’d say. Enough so that you’ve the ability to hide whatever you wish to be hidden.”

Malcolm was trying hard to discredit him. But this way? Colin could barely believe his ears.
Possessed.
Who would have thought he would come up with something so far-fetched to keep William from turning the clan over to him. He was grasping at anything and everything hoping to change their minds. If they weren’t discussing such a serious matter he might have laughed in Malcom’s face. But he refrained. There was no way in hell that Malcolm believed his own accusations, but it stung Colin nonetheless

He took a deep breath and kept his voice even. “Aye, my powers have grown. And aye, I learned a lot from those with whom I traveled. I have a better understanding of both light and dark magic. But as we both know, a MacLomain wizard is pre-destined by the verra gods themselves to draw one type of magi toward us. Mine, as you know, is light magic.” Unable to help himself he leaned forward and cocked his head. “And what again is yours, Malcolm?”

They both knew he attracted dark magic every bit if not more than Ferchar.

“Enough,” William said, his less-than-patient eyes skirting between the two. “If there was ever a time that you two need to stand together, ‘tis now. As you know the summer solstice has just past. When it did Torra muttered four words, passed from a servant’s ears to ours.”

The three younger men waited for William to continue; anxious to find out what prophecy Torra had foreseen. Since the moment she’d gone into seclusion, every word she spoke came to be.

It was not William who spoke but Iain. “Colin. Death. Keir.
A-bhos
.”

Very rarely did Torra mix English with Gaelic. “The last word was “here.”” Their plan was clear. Colin took a deep breath and blew it out. He didn’t like this at all. “So you mean to bring Keir Hamilton to our doorstep.”

“Aye, laddie,” William said. “Because as we see it Torra’s words could be interpreted one of two ways. Either he’ll kill you or you’ll kill him. The fourth word is the only one we can control.”

“But why rush me here? And why McKayla? What aren’t you telling me?”

“They sent a message,” Malcolm growled. “Shortly after you killed their kin.”

Colin looked from man to man. What was he missing?

“Coira,” William said hoarsely.

Coira! His aunt, William’s wife. He stood, truly frightened. “I assumed she was visiting Annie. Where is she? Have they hurt her?”

“Nay, she lives,” Iain said. “But they’ve barred her from returning home. She is trapped in the nineteenth century with Annie and Arthur.”

Colin slowly sat. Deemed a wizard by the gods of Ireland several decades ago, his aunt Coira was now stuck in the very era in which she was born. While he might be relieved that she was well, he understood the pain they were suffering being barred from one another.

“So verra few know how to time travel. This cannae be,” he murmured.

“But ‘tis,” Iain said. “The last mental connection William had with his wife was severed by Keir’s voice. He warned that he now controlled all passage through time. We were verra lucky that we got you here at all. We had no such luck with Coira. You should know that he vowed blood revenge on you, Colin and the lass whom was always meant to die, who
had
to die, McKayla.”