The Chieftain (9 page)

A
re ye well?” Lachlan asked Ilysa when he met her on the steps of the keep. He had not seen her at breakfast, and she was pale
and drawn.

She ignored his question and asked, “Has the chieftain returned?”

“The men who went with him came back in ones and twos during the night,” Lachlan said.

“But not Connor?” she asked, her face going still paler.

“Not yet.”

“Do ye know what happened?” she asked.

“I’m told they were surprised by two galleys full of MacLeod warriors,” Lachlan said since there was no point in attempting
to keep the truth from her. “When they couldn’t reach their boat to escape, they split up to make it harder for the MacLeods
to track them.”

Perhaps he should be glad if they had killed Connor and saved him the trouble of settling his blood feud, but Lachlan could
not be happy about any attack on his clan. When he turned his attention back to Ilysa, the lass was weaving on her feet.

“Sit down before ye faint on me,” Lachlan said and sat with her on the steps.

“I don’t faint,” she said, and he didn’t bother arguing with her.

Sorely came out of the keep then. When he saw them, he put his hands on his hips and looked them up and down. Lachlan had
made an enemy when he knocked Sorely on his arse and took his sword in front of all the men. He suspected Sorely’s sour attitude
toward him was the reason Connor had not trusted him enough to take him on his night forays.

“You’d better have a damned good explanation for why we couldn’t find ye last night,” Sorely said in a tone that made Lachlan
want to plant his fist in his face.

“Go to hell,” Lachlan said. “You’re not my keeper.”

“We’ll see about that,” Sorely said.

Sorely was expecting to be named captain of Connor’s guard, but it hadn’t happened yet. Still, Lachlan should try harder to
tolerate the man. He did not need to give anyone a reason to watch his movements too closely.

“Where were ye last night?” Ilysa asked after Sorely had huffed off.

Lachlan ignored her, hoping she would let it go, though he already knew her well enough to recognize that as a useless hope.

“Tell me ye had nothing to do with what happened,” she said.

“I would never bring the MacLeods down on us,” he said. “Never.”

“I know you’re a good man,” Ilysa said, touching his arm, “and that you’re contemplating doing something that troubles ye
gravely.”

Lachlan was not accustomed to having anyone read him so well. When he glanced sideways and met her honest brown eyes, he reminded
himself that Ilysa was a bigger threat to him than Sorely. Ilysa had the chieftain’s trust, and somehow she could see into
the blackness of Lachlan’s soul.

“Listen to your conscience,” she said, “and don’t do this.”

Lasses liked to take him to bed, but having one fret over his conscience was new to him.

“Whatever it is, you must give it up and help Connor,” she said. “He is the hope of our clan, the only man who stands between
us and having Hugh as our chieftain.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” he said. “Though I can’t see where it makes much difference which of them is chieftain.”

It was a mistake to admit that—Ilysa gripped his arm with surprising strength for such a tiny thing. By the saints, the lass
was persistent.

“It makes
all
the difference,” she said. “I was at Dunscaith when Hugh took it and proclaimed himself chieftain. Hugh did nothing while
the MacKinnons attacked Knock Castle and the MacLeods took Trotternish from us.”

“It wasn’t Hugh’s fault our former chieftain took our warriors off to fight the English and left us vulnerable to our enemies.”

“I was there,” she said in an insistent tone, enunciating each word. “Knock Castle is only five miles from Dunscaith. Yet,
when our men came from there begging for help, Hugh sat with two lasses on his lap laughing and drinking. We could see the
flames and still he did nothing.”

The bastard.
Lachlan was shaken by her words. And yet, from what he had seen of Hugh, they rang true. “I doubt our former chieftain would
have done any better,” he said.

“Connor’s father had his faults, but he would never have sat behind his castle walls feasting while our enemies took our lands,”
Ilysa said. “And neither would Connor.”

Lachlan had been raised on his father’s hatred of their former chieftain. Revenge was the reason for the constant training
from the time he could walk. Lachlan tried to dismiss Ilysa’s words, but he had never once heard a story of the former chieftain’s
cowardice, and no lands had been taken from them while he lived. The same could not be said of Hugh.

As for Connor, he risked his life every night he left the castle.

“Hugh brought his foul, clanless pirates into Dunscaith Castle,” Ilysa said, “and no woman or child was safe.”

“Did they hurt ye?” The thought of someone harming her made Lachlan feel ill. For some damned reason, he’d grown fond of Ilysa.
Probably because her stubbornness reminded him of his sister.

“I made certain they heard I was learning the Old Ways,” she said with a small smile. “They feared I would curse them.”

“If Hugh and his men were so foul, why were you there at all?”

“To spy on Hugh, of course,” she said. “I knew that the four of them—my brother, Connor, and Connor’s cousins—would return
as soon as they learned the clan was in danger, and they would need someone inside the castle.”

Ilysa would make a better spy than he did, for certain. With her innocent face and quiet demeanor, no one would suspect her.

“Connor needs ye,” Ilysa said. “For the sake of the clan, ye
must
help him.”

Lachlan did not remind her that Connor could already be dead. Nor did he tell her that he wished he could change his course.
The demands of honor were inflexible and unforgiving, and so must he be.

“There’s a man crossing the field to the castle,” one of the guards shouted from the wall.

Ilysa bolted from the steps, and Lachlan ran with her to the gate.

An unexpected rush of relief coursed through Lachlan when the guards flung the gate open and he saw the tall, black-haired
figure in the midst of the broad, empty field.

“Praise God!” Ilysa said, pressing her hand to her chest.

Connor was using a thick stick as a crutch, and his sleeve was bloody, but he shouted a greeting and waved. The chieftain
had survived another brush with death.

He was a hard man to kill, in more ways than one.

“Can I speak with ye?” Sorely asked from the doorway of Connor’s chamber.

Sorely shifted his weight from foot to foot and flicked his gaze around the room. Connor was surprised to see him here at
all. It had taken him a while to figure out why Sorely was always slow to answer a summons to come to Connor’s chamber, never
took guard duty at his door, and generally waited to speak with him until he was in the hall or the courtyard.

The tough old warrior was shaking in his boots for fear he would see the nursemaid’s ghost.

“There is no ghost,” Connor said. “I’ve been here a fortnight, and I haven’t seen her once.”

“There! She’s there!” Sorely said, pointing toward the tower door. “Don’t ye see her?”

Connor sighed. God help him, this was one of his best warriors. Once a story like the one about the nursemaid got started,
people were likely to imagine they saw her ghost for centuries. Connor only hoped Alastair MacLeod had a few ghosts of his
own to deal with.

“I’m telling ye, there is no ghost, but let’s go down to the hall,” Connor said, deciding there was no sense in torturing
the man.

He used the stick for a crutch going down the stairs, though he was healing so quickly he hardly needed it.

“We must be cautious that no one overhears,” Sorely said in his usual gruff voice as they entered the hall. Apparently, he
did not fear that the ghost had chased them down the stairs.

“What is it?” Connor asked once they stood in a quiet corner.

“Someone alerted the MacLeods that we were going to that cottage,” Sorely said.

Connor thought it far more likely that whoever betrayed them had told Hugh, expecting him to do the dirty task of eliminating
Connor himself, rather than use the MacLeods. It was one thing for a MacDonald man to favor Hugh over Connor as chieftain
and quite another to betray the clan to the MacLeods.

“Who do ye think told?” Connor asked.

“I can’t say for certain,” Sorely said, “but there’s something ye ought to know about Lachlan of Lealt—something no one’s
had the ballocks to tell ye.”

“I told no one where we were going but the men we took with us.”

“One of them could have told Lachlan,” Sorely said with a shrug. “Or he could have overheard them talking.”

“I suppose.” Connor hoped to hell it was not his best warrior in the castle who betrayed them.

“Lachlan wouldn’t need to know our destination,” Sorely added. “If he alerted the MacLeods in which direction we went, they
could easily have watched for our boat.”

Anyone could have done that. “What is it I should know about Lachlan that makes ye suspect him?”

“Lachlan’s mother was one of your father’s women,” Sorely said. “She was married to Lachlan’s father at the time, but ye know
how the chieftain was about the lasses. When he wanted one, he had to have her.”

Connor did know about his father and women. “I can’t mistrust all the relatives of every lass my father bedded,” Connor said.
“That would be half the clan.”

“There’s more,” Sorely said, glancing back at the doorway to the adjoining building. “It was her son that the nursemaid dropped
out the tower window.”

Connor had assumed the ghost story was as old as the castle. It took him a moment to realize what this meant.

“That was my father’s child who died?” Christ, he never knew he had a brother besides Ragnall. And that babe was Lachlan’s
brother as well.

“The chieftain put Lachlan’s mother aside after the accident,” Sorely said. “She killed herself by jumping off those two-hundred-foot
bluffs between Lealt and Staffin Bay.”

Was there no end to the grief his father had caused with his careless philandering?

“Some say she did it out of grief over losing the babe. Others say it was because your father lost interest in her.” Sorely
paused. “But Lachlan’s father believed the chieftain forced his wife into his bed and that she killed herself for shame.”

“I’m glad ye told me,” Connor said, rubbing his forehead against the headache that had started pounding, “though it doesn’t
mean Lachlan is the one who betrayed me.”

In the Highlands, grudges were passed from father to son for generations. Yet he and Lachlan shared the loss of a brother
whom neither had a chance to know. Perhaps it was foolish, but Connor felt that loss created some kind of bond between them.
While he would watch Lachlan closely, he prayed that Lachlan would not turn out to be his enemy.

That night, for the first time since he left Dunscaith, Connor dreamed of his mother. In his dream, he was on the beach as
a child, hugging his knees against the cold and his fear.

“My curse on you!” his mother cried out as her hair blew around her like writhing snakes. “May your seed dry up, Donald Gallach…May
your sons already born by other women die young…”

Connor felt as if he were looking down upon his child self while his nursemaid, Anna, tried to comfort his mother.

He sat up straight in bed, suddenly awake. He remembered what his mother had said to Anna that night.
He’s been keeping a woman up at Trotternish Castle—and she’s borne him a son!

The woman she spoke of must have been Lachlan’s mother and the son the babe who died. Pain seared through Connor as words
he had forgotten for years and years rang in his ears.

May your sons already born by other women die young.

He had heard her chant as she circled the fire without comprehending it. His mother had cursed Ragnall, his older brother
who had loved and protected him, and that innocent babe. Connor was the only son of his father’s to survive. For such an evil,
perhaps he did deserve to be punished.

Eventually, Connor recalled that he did still have one brother living, though he had never met him. Torquil MacLeod of Lewis
was the son his mother had abandoned, along with her first husband, to marry Connor’s father.

Connor lay awake until dawn, contemplating the hatreds that plagued his family. Between the rebellions and the rivalries among
the clans, violent death was commonplace in the Highlands. But among Connor’s closest kin, death usually came by the hand
of one of their own.

Though this should serve as a warning, Connor decided he wanted to extend the hand of friendship to his last remaining brother.

C
onnor tensed when one of the guards burst into the hall and made a straight line for him. It was usually bad news that couldn’t
wait.

“There’s a man at the gate claiming to be a relative of yours—and he looks as if he could be,” the guard said. “He came in
a fine galley with a dozen warriors.”

This was good news after all. A week ago, Connor had sent Sorely with a message to Torquil MacLeod of Lewis. He had not expected
his half brother to accept his invitation and offer of friendship, but he was very pleased that he had.

“Bring him in at once.” Connor stood, too anxious to remain in his seat.

When the doors swung open and the guest led his warriors in, Connor covered his disappointment. This was not the relative
he was hoping to see. Though Connor could not recall meeting this middle-aged man dressed in fine clothes, his guest looked
unnervingly familiar.

“I am Connor, son of Donald Gallach, and chieftain of the MacDonalds of Sleat,” Connor said when his guest stood before him
in the center of the hall. “Welcome to Trotternish Castle.”

“I hope I am welcome,” the man said. “I haven’t seen ye since ye were a young lad. I am your father’s brother, Archibald Lerrich.”

Connor had guessed as much. He had the same square face, fading golden hair, and barrel-chested frame as Connor’s father and
his hated uncle Hugh. Of the six sons his grandfather had by six different highborn women, Archibald and Hugh were the only
survivors. Archibald was one of the middle brothers, in his midforties, with a reputation for staying out of trouble’s way.
The last Connor heard, Archibald had left Skye to live with his wife’s clan in Lachalsh.

“I’ve come to swear my allegiance,” Archibald said and sank to one knee. When Connor nodded, his uncle held his claymore out
in both hands and gave his oath.

“Ye took your time,” Connor said, not bothering to hide the coldness from his voice as his uncle rose to his feet again.

“I didn’t join Hugh against ye,” Archibald said, spreading his arms, “but neither did I wish to get between the two of ye.”

Connor let that pass for the moment. He wanted to find out the true reason for Archibald’s visit.

“Let us go where we can speak in private,
Uncle
,” Connor said. Without waiting for Archibald’s reply, he led the way into the adjacent building.

“You’ve grown into a fine man,” Archibald said, when they had settled at the table in Connor’s chamber. “I can see your mother
in ye.”

Connor saw far too much of his father and his other uncles in Archibald.

“I’ve been chieftain for some time,” Connor said. “Why have ye come now?”

“Ye may look like your mother, but you’re direct like your father.”

Archibald attempted a smile, but Connor did not respond in kind. He waited for his uncle to stop fidgeting and say what he
had come to say.

“I am here in the hope,” Archibald finally said, “of bringing peace between you and Hugh.”

“Hmmph, ’tis late for that,” Connor said. “I hold him responsible for the deaths of my father, my brother, and a great many
other clansmen.”

“Well,” Archibald said, tilting his head, “Hugh blames you for the deaths of two of our brothers.”

“There’s a difference between justice and murder.” Connor leaned across the table and grabbed Archibald by the front of his
tunic. “Those two were marauding pirates guilty of taking food from the mouths of children and then raping their mothers,
so do not speak to me as if their deaths are the same.”

Connor released him and sat back, annoyed with himself for losing control.

“I understand your feelings about it,” Archibald said after clearing his throat, “but there’s been enough bloodshed among
our family.”

“I doubt Hugh would agree, judging by how many times he’s tried to have me murdered,” Connor said. “He won’t be satisfied
until one of us is dead.”

“Hugh is mean as a cornered rat, but he’s no fool—he can see that he’s losing this fight with ye,” Archibald said. “He sent
a message through a lass named Rhona, asking me to serve as an intermediary.”

So Duncan’s former lover was still with Hugh. The mention of her name soured Connor’s mood further.

“Now that Hugh has earned the Crown’s favor by capturing a couple of other pirate leaders, he’d like to give up the game himself,”
Archibald said.

“As they say, there’s no honor among thieves.”

“Hugh wants—”

Archibald stopped speaking when the door opened and Ilysa came in with a tray. Connor was grateful she had brought it herself
since her loyalty was beyond question. By the saints, he was tired of looking over his shoulder, wondering which member of
his household was involved in treachery with Hugh.

As Ilysa poured the whiskey into two cups, Connor motioned to Archibald to continue talking.

“Hugh wants to settle his differences with ye.” Archibald leaned forward. “I suspect ye could buy him off with a wee bit of
land.”

Connor kept his expression blank while rage rolled through him. Give that murdering bastard some of the clan’s land?

“Surely it’s worth at least meeting with Hugh and hearing what he has to say?” Archibald said.

The only way Connor wanted to meet Hugh Dubh again was with the point of his sword sunk in Hugh’s belly. He forced himself
to tamp down his temper and think it through coldly. This violent contest with Hugh was a distraction from the most important
challenge, the battle with the MacLeods for Trotternish. The clan did not have the strength to fight both at the same time.

He did not believe for a moment that Hugh was ready to give up his quest for the chieftainship. Eventually, Connor would have
to settle the problem of Hugh once and for all. Yet, if he could delay that final reckoning with his uncle until after the
fight with the MacLeods, he would stand a far better chance of succeeding at both.

“Hugh asked me to host the meeting at my home,” Archibald said. “You’ll both be my guests, and as such, you’ll be protected
by the ancient code of hospitality.”

“I’ll consider it,” Connor said, though he had already decided to go.

“If ye wish to meet Hugh,” Archibald said, “be at my home in exactly five days.”

Ilysa’s heart raced when she heard Archibald suggest Connor meet with Hugh. Unfortunately, she could not tell if it was fear
or a true premonition. She needed to attempt to bring on The Sight. This time, she could not use Connor’s chamber to help
connect the vision to him, so she stole a loose hair from each of the men’s tunics to mix with her herbs.

After ramming the bar across her door, she put an extra peat log on her brazier, then cut the hair into the herbs with her
dirk. Her hand shook as she spread the mixture over the brazier.

Only rarely had she been able to see the future. On those times she did, what she saw was more a riddle than a clear vision.
But now, when she breathed in the pungent fumes, a vision came to her so quickly and with such clarity that she gasped.

She saw Connor sitting at a table laden with food. On either side of him were two fair-haired, square-faced men—his uncles,
Archibald and Hugh Dubh. As she watched, Hugh got up from the table and waved his arm, urging the other two to follow. Archibald
went at once to join him at the window, but Connor held back.

Don’t go.
Ilysa did not understand why, but she knew Connor must not go to the window.
Leave the room. Leave the house. Now!
She tried to tell him, but he could not hear her.

“Come take a look at my new galley,” Hugh said, his voice coming to Ilysa as if through a tunnel. “Isn’t she a beauty?”

Tears stung Ilysa’s eyes as Connor joined his uncles. She felt Connor’s aversion when Hugh put a heavy arm around his shoulders
and pointed out the window.

In a move so swift Ilysa barely saw it, Hugh drove a blade into Connor’s back. Ilysa screamed soundlessly as Connor fell to
the floor. Grief engulfed her. Connor lay unnaturally still, his blood seeping out of him. Archibald’s face was horror-struck
as he looked down at Connor. Clearly, he had not been party to this travesty, and he failed to grasp the danger to himself
in time. In the next moment Hugh plunged his blade into his brother.

Ilysa had no idea how much time had passed when she found herself lying on her floor, covered in a cold sweat. After pulling
herself up, she stumbled to the narrow table against the wall and poured water from the pitcher into the bowl. Her hands shook
so badly that most of the water ran through her fingers as she splashed it on her face and neck. Holding the drying cloth
to her face, she rocked back and forth.

She had to prevent this from happening. At all costs, she must stop Connor from going to the meeting with his uncles—or Hugh
would murder him.

Connor stood by the window re-reading the royal summons commanding him to attend the upcoming gathering. He had avoided answering
similar summons in the past. When the Crown was nervous, it had a nasty habit of imprisoning Highland chieftains on suspicion
of treason or holding them hostage as a preventive measure. Now that the current rebellion was dying down, the Crown was calmer,
and failing to obey the summons presented the greater risk.

The gathering was at Mingary Castle, the stronghold of the MacIains, who were steadfast supporters of the Crown in a region
where few could make that claim. The gathering and the MacIains naturally led Connor to thoughts about treachery and marriage.

Not long after the Lord of the Isles was forced to submit to the Scottish Crown, the MacIain chieftain turned on his former
allies, the MacDonalds of Dunivaig and the Glens. Through treachery, he captured the chieftain, his son, and his two oldest
grandsons, who were all executed.

A younger grandson survived because he was in Ireland at the time. That was Alexander, Deirdre and James’s father. After the
executions, the Crown forced a peace through Alexander’s marriage to MacIain’s daughter.

At the gathering, Connor must choose which treacherous clan to ally himself with through marriage. But first, he had to spar
with his vile uncle Hugh.
Please God, just put a sword in my hand.
Fighting was so much easier.

“May I speak?”

Connor started at the soft voice behind him and turned from the window to find Ilysa.

“I didn’t see ye come in,” he said. “What is it? Are our stores low, and I need to send the men out hunting? Or is it something
far worse? Please tell me the whiskey isn’t gone.”

He was teasing her, glad for the diversion from his troubles. Ilysa, however, did not favor him with a smile. He narrowed
his eyes and took a closer look at her. The usually unshakable Ilysa was twisting her hands in the skirt of her gown.

“What’s wrong?”

“Ye mustn’t go to your uncle’s,” she said.

“What did ye say?” Connor thought he must have misheard her.

“Don’t go,” she said, blinking her big brown eyes at him. “You’ll be in grave danger if ye do.”

Connor was aware that Ilysa had stayed in the room to listen when he met with his uncle, as she often did. He had never minded
before because he trusted her loyalty absolutely and she never gave away secrets. But, by the saints, now she was trying to
tell him what to do.

“I appreciate your concern,” Connor said. “Now I have important matters to attend to.”

He turned back to the window. After a moment, he realized she was still standing there. Did the lass not understand he had
dismissed her?

“Leave me now,” he said over his shoulder.

“Ye were angry with me for how ye learned about Deirdre,” she said.

Connor’s temper flared at the memory. When he turned and fixed his gaze on Ilysa, he did not attempt to hide it.

“Ye said I should have simply told ye what I knew,” Ilysa said, her face pinched in an earnest expression.

“I did,” Connor said, though he did not see why she was bringing this up.

“So that’s what I’m doing now.” Ilysa paused to lick her lips. “I’m telling ye that ye must not go to your uncle’s.”

Connor closed his eyes and rubbed the space between his brows where a raging headache was starting. He reminded himself that
Ilysa was Duncan’s sister, and therefore he should not yell at her. All the same, she needed to understand her place. He took
a deep breath.

“I give ye a free hand with the kitchens and the servants,” he said, biting out the words. “But I am your chieftain, and ye
will not attempt to tell me what to do.”

“Ye don’t understand,” she said, her voice rising. “I had a vision.”

God help him, Teàrlag taught her how to mix a few salves and now Ilysa believed she had The Sight.

“I don’t have time for such foolishness.” Connor set the summons on his table and took her arm.

“Hugh wants to murder ye,” Ilysa said as he led her to the door.

“There’s nothing new about that. He’s wanted to kill me for years.” Connor opened the door and put a hand at her back. “Don’t
ever question my judgment again. Now go.”

Connor felt guilty when he saw Ilysa across the courtyard. Ever since he had spoken harshly to her after his uncle’s visit
two days ago, she dropped her gaze whenever she passed him. She was a sweet, delicate lass. While he could not tolerate her
interference, he had not meant to hurt her feelings.

She had barely spoken a word to him since. Odd, how much that unsettled him. He liked and respected Ilysa, and it did not
feel right having this discord between them. When their paths crossed in the middle of the courtyard and she stopped to speak
with him, he was relieved.

“Your favorite dog has had pups,” she said, her face bright. “I can show them to ye when ye have a moment.”

Connor had a great many things to do before he left, but this should not take long. Besides, he wanted to make things right
between them.

“I can see them now,” he said. “Where is Maggie?”

“She’s hidden her pups well,” Ilysa said, with a small smile. “Come inside, and I’ll show ye.”