Plight of the Highlander (The MacLomain Series: Next Generation Book 5) (22 page)

It nearly took more strength than Colin was capable of to stand idly by. Because if Keir sensed his distress for even a moment everything could go horribly wrong. As was, they had no way of knowing if he’d figured out they had been gone to begin with.

Keir chanted a few words and the altar once more returned to nothing but a charred hearth covered with heavy drips of candle wax. Furious, the Hamilton shoved Torra across the room until she stumbled to her knees.

Colin clenched his hands together behind his back to keep from punching Keir and pressed his teeth together to keep from speaking. Gods did he look forward to wiping this evil piece of
shite
out of existence.

The Hamilton towered over Torra for a moment before he yanked her to her feet and manacled her wrists to chains attached to the wall. “How
dare
ye free Iosbail MacLomain. But it doesnae matter. That sword ye tossed into the serpents seems to have done the trick.”

Keir looked at Torra with a daunting mix of loath and lust. “Ye’ll stay here where I can keep a close eye on ye.” Then he turned, wiped the back of his hand across his forehead and narrowed his eyes on Colin. “We need to talk.”

Colin nodded. “Aye, my Laird.”

The Hamilton strode past him. “Come.”

As far as Keir last knew Colin had been in the midst of battling the MacLomains and Grant had been clever enough to trap Torra and bring them all back here. Colin prayed to the gods that the Hamilton did not somehow see all that happened between then and now.

Ice and snow fell as he joined Keir on a battlement that rose high above those who held the castle under siege. Hands braced on the ledge, the overlord tilted back his head and closed his eyes. Not sure in the least what was coming; Colin crossed his arms over his chest and stared down upon the MacLomains.

When Keir inhaled deeply, Colin glanced his way. A slow, evil smile had crawled onto the Hamilton’s face when their eyes met. “Ye did good, lad. Verra, verra good.” But then his lips turned down and his eyes went flat. “‘Tis one thing I dinnae ken though.”

Colin kept his face expressionless. This was it. Keir had figured out something important. “Aye?”

“That sword, the one that appeased the serpents.” His eyes grew distant before they narrowed on Colin. “Where did Grant get that?”

“I dinnae know.” Colin didn’t bat a lash. “‘Twas a hell of a blade though.”

“‘Twas cunning how he managed to fool the enemy up until the end.” Keir cocked his head. “Yet how convenient that he ended up with a sword that appeased the gods and saved Iosbail MacLomain…for now.”

He might be beyond evil, but Keir possessed a disturbingly brilliant mind.

Colin had a ready answer though. “I cannae speak to where he got the blade but ‘tis good he did. There could be no guessing Torra’s actions. But at least she is yours now, aye?”

Keir continued to eye him. “Aye, so it appears yet several things niggle at my conscience. ‘Tis not good that they have Grant and the sword is a loose end. I dinnae like such things.”

Neither did Colin. But little could he do about it. He had to play a part that nauseated him. So he said what would be logical. “It seems then that the answers ye seek are with the lass.”

“So it would seem.” Keir licked his lips in anticipation. “‘Twill be most enjoyable.”

And while for the briefest of moments he thought his laird contented with his thoughts, never was he more wrong. Eyes inky and deceptive, the Hamilton focused his full attention on Colin. “What think ye of once more seeing yer long lost love not as a dragon but as the bonnie wee lass she is?”

Colin made a point of considering carefully, all the while keeping a hard look in his eyes. “Four winters can do a lot to change a lad’s perspective. ‘Tis safe to say that I wouldnae see all these hard years of training thrown away for a mere lass.” He ground his jaw. “Nay, now I wish for greatness, one I like to think I might achieve in my unending devotion to ye, my Laird.”

“‘Tis good to hear this.” Keir gripped Colin’s shoulders. “But I cannae help but be sure.”

Black magic pooled in the Hamilton’s eyes and Colin froze.

Never before had Colin felt Keir within his mind and the sensation was indescribable. Murky, dark, painful, it felt as if a burning hot dagger thrust, dug in and twisted beneath his skull. And though he cried out in pain, no sound came from his lips. The blasphemous intrusion was inescapable and brutal.

When at last Keir pulled free from his mind and his eyes returned to normal, Colin’s knees nearly buckled. While he knew damn well the man was powerful he’d never experienced such a thorough taste of it. And though he had always had a profound respect for his best friend, now it was tenfold. How the bloody hell had Grant survived fourteen winters with Keir wrapped within his mind and not only managed to grow stronger but end up so honorable?

Colin fully expected that Keir just saw everything clearly and that he’d bring the wrath of the gods down in an instant. But instead, the Hamilton nodded and even grinned. “Ye were happy indeed to see that Grant didnae betray us. ‘Tis so verra good this.”

“Aye,” Colin agreed and kept confusion well hidden. “But then I expected nothing less.”

“Aye.” Keir nodded slowly. “But ‘twas always bound to be questionable in that we war with his verra clan. Or what
was
his clan,” Keir ground out. “Now he is a Hamilton good and true.”

If only he was and this evil bastard was dead. The poor Hamilton clan would be better off for it.

Keir grinned down at the MacLomains and fingered the leather wrapped pentacle hanging around his neck. “‘Tis almost time. Thrice days hence and I will unleash the dragon.” Unmistakable desire flared in his eyes. “Meantime, I have a lass to question.”

Keir clapped him on the shoulder. “Go see to the warriors. They must be prepared and ready for action soon.”

So it was that Colin found himself on the battlement alone with both incredible relief and fear in his heart. Relief because Keir had seen nothing incriminating within his mind. Thus far, their plans would move forward accordingly. Yet he feared for Torra right now. How was he to stand here and allow Keir to hurt her? To allow the evil he’d just felt torture him do the same to his lass?

Did not standing by and doing nothing make him just as much a monster as the Hamilton?

Colin gripped the battlement and stared down on the warriors below as wind whipped ice against his face. So many had asked this of him, including Torra. Hell, even two kings and a Celtic god would see him remain silent. Yet still, a horrible sense of betrayal seized him. This should
not
be happening to her. What was he thinking for agreeing to any of this? She was his twin soul. He was supposed to protect her.

This was all wrong and he was about to act on it.

“Keir will not lay with her.”

Colin recognized that the words, though within his mind, were not his. Nay, he did not recognize the essence of its speaker at all.

Tentative, careful, he replied within the mind,
“Who is this?”

“I am Naðr Véurr, one of the kings who have so long been in Torra’s mind.”

Colin was careful to temper shock as well as one could from a voice in their mind. Besides, it was impossible to ever know precisely where Keir might be even if he said he was going to see Torra.

Though Colin knew he should thank the king for being there for Torra, he was far more interested in something else and did well to control the heavy thud of his heart.
“What do ye mean Keir will not lay with her?”

“It is a well-known thing that a virgin dragon is easier to control than one already taken,”
Naðr said as though Colin should have already guessed that.

So strong was his sense of relief that Colin clenched his shaking hands. Yet still he worried for her.
“Does she know this? Please say she does,”
he growled into his mind.
“‘Twould ease her fears some.”

But Naðr Véurr gave no response. Nay, his essence vanished from Colin’s mind.

Bloody hell.

Yet still, the Viking king had given him so much. Though the days ahead would be nothing but one long nightmare, at least he now knew that Keir would not rape Torra. Colin leaned back against the battlements for a moment to regain his near broken composure.

She had asked this of him.

He could do this.

They
would
survive.

Three days later, he stood on that very battlement and again stared down upon the MacLomains. He had spent ample time amongst his warriors getting ready for Keir Hamilton’s unleashing of the beast.

That’s what everyone called her.

A beast.

Yet Colin was quick to chastise and remind all that though beast Torra MacLomain might be, she was theirs. Under the control of their laird, they should find strength and courage because of the dragon. But he understood that they were ignorant and he couldn’t much blame them. They did not know Torra personally and were genuinely terrified of the dragon.

If that wasn’t enough, his men watched as more and more allied clans joined the MacLomains. Aye, they might have a dragon in their corner, but it could be no easy thing to watch the vast numbers accrue beyond.

So it became Colin’s sole mission to not only rally them as they prepared for war but to pacify and remind them that they trained beneath the best warriors.

And now because of such,
they
were the best warriors.

Colin spoke to them often of Grant and how though imprisoned by the MacLomains, they could be sure that once free, he would again be by their side. Always sure to make eye contact with the Hamilton warriors, he would say, “Grant would die for ye all. Fight well so that he might once more lead ye, aye?”

This would always get a loud round of swords banging on shields and, “Down with the MacLomains! Long live Grant!”

Colin did well not to flinch. Little did they know that the MacLomains longed to free them. But he had given his word that he would say nothing to his warriors and so did not.

He hadn’t seen Torra since they arrived and continued to fear for her. His only consolation was what Naðr had said and that he’d heard no cries from her chamber.

Yet still there was a certain misery in such silence. His imagination had run wild over the past three days and he’d barely slept. What was Keir doing to her? While glad it didn’t sound torturous, Colin knew all too well that the Hamilton’s silent administrations could be far worse.

Taking yet another deep breath, he paced along the battlement and eyed the sky.

It was nearly dusk on the eve of the full moon.

He slid his hand around his waistline, for the hundredth time making sure the scrap of black leather was there. Torra had assured him this was where Keir would come. And no doubt he would since he asked Colin to wait up here now.

“‘Tis going to be a fine eve,” Keir declared.

Colin turned to his chieftain…his
master
and did well not to sigh in relief.

The moment had at last arrived.

“They make little headway despite their efforts,” Keir said.

Oh, but they did.

Playing the part, jaw clenched, Colin growled, “And they willnae, my Laird.” He pointed his sword at one area. “They put too many men there.” He swung his sword in the opposite direction. “And not enough there.”

Keir Hamilton stood beside him, hands clasped behind his back as he looked over everything with a practiced eye. “Or they but follow Grant’s advice. He would try to mislead them.”

He had no idea how much Grant’s advice would affect him adversely.

Colin kept emotion absent. “Aye, ‘tis verra possible.”

Keir’s black eyes shot to him, expression sour. “Grant tried to do right by me then was taken once more.”

Colin nodded and kept a grin well hidden.

“We’ve plenty of provisions to last the winter.” Keir grinned and nodded down at the warriors camped at his door. “But we will strike long before that.”

They would indeed.

As Torra promised him he would, Colin sensed Keir was about to unwrap the leather encasing the pentacle around his neck. So he walked away from him and slowly wrapped the black leather around the hilt of his blade. “Aye, and ‘twill be mighty, m’laird.”

A heavy rumble of laughter echoed behind him. “Aye, lad, ‘twill.”

“‘Tis planned and ready at your command.” Colin continued to wrap the supple leather until secured. Gaze to the raging ocean, he whispered a prayer to the gods. “Give the order and see it done.”

He could all but feel Keir’s pleased nod behind him.

“Ye have done well by me,” the Hamilton said.

Colin gripped his blade, ready. “And always will.”

The sun sunk below the horizon. Fog burned in heavy, curling drifts over the sea.

It was time.

With a quick murmur, he closed his eyes and said, “
Style hac draco virtutem in hostium potestate præfinito ligare.
With this that harnesses dragon’s power, bind enemy’s control in this final hour.”