The Highlander's Vow (Loch Moigh #4) (25 page)

“Come. Stand by the fire before you catch a chill, lad.” Dylan gestured toward the hearth. “You and I have much to discuss.”

“Do we?” Struan glanced askance at the older man.

“Och, aye. We’re kin, and you were at Halidon Hill. I wish to hear all about that day, and I’d very much like to hear about my great-grandsire.”

“Though your great-grandsire was my sire, you’d be the first of his line—his legitimate line—to lower himself to engage in discourse with
me
. The countess and her brood were never civil where I was concerned.” Why did it still sting? He was a grown man, with a life, family and friends of his own. Why did his childhood longing for acceptance and affection within his sire’s household still haunt him?

Dylan’s stare drove into him like a ploughshare. “I dinna hold you responsible for my ancestors’ behavior, nor for the circumstance of your birth. Do
you
mean to hold me responsible for the actions of my predecessors? Ancestors, I might add, that I and my siblings never met?”

“Humph.” Struan turned away, needing time to process. Dylan’s reaction stunned him. All this time he’d feared returning to the past with Sky, feared revealing the circumstances of his birth . . . “Should I be surprised that all of you take the whole time travel thing so well?”

“We’ve had time to adjust.” Dylan shrugged. “With so many of my kin touched by these strange circumstances, we’ve had little choice but to accept.”

Dylan threw his arm around Struan’s shoulders and turned him toward the table. “Come, lad . . . er . . .
uncle
,” he said with a huff of irony. “Warm yourself by the fire, have an ale and fill your belly. The MacKintosh and Sutherlands have a battle to fight on the morrow, and this might our only chance to have speech with one another.”

Struan cast a look over his shoulder in time to see the women hustle Sky up the stairs and out of his reach. Resigned, he allowed Dylan to lead him to the blazing heat of the hearth.

“I’m Owain, and this is my twin, David,” the young man said, handing Struan a mug of thick, dark ale. “We’re Sky’s brothers.”

“Glad to meet you.” Seeing the two youths brought an ache to his heart. “I’ve a younger brother around the same age as you two. His name is Michael.” His heart wrenched. “He’s . . . my adoptive family is in the twenty-first century.”

Malcolm approached, his expression intimidating. “Come, we’ve plans to discuss before we go to our rest.”

Owain’s eyes lit with excitement. “Will you join us on the morrow, Sir Struan?”

“Aye. I’d be more than happy to help you dispose of the refuse littering your shores.” Struan studied the map spread out on the trestle table as Rob, Connor and Dylan joined them.

“Nay, lad,” Sky’s father said. “I think it best you leave for the western shore under cover of darkness yet this night. I’ll send two of the baron DúnConnell’s men with you.” Laird MacKintosh stared at him, his expression hard. “From there, you will travel to my foster son’s keep. There you will remain until Connor joins you. ’Tis my hope that Madame Giselle can be prevailed upon to aid you, Connor and Katherine in returning to your homes.”

“Nope.” Struan’s heart pounded, and adrenaline pumped through his veins. He wasn’t ready to leave Sky. Did the earl think he’d sneak away in the dark of night without even a word with her? “Not going to happen.” He stared back, just as hard. Their gazes locked. Struan wasn’t about to back down. “The Erskine heir meant to murder Sky, and I’ve no doubt Oliver’s grandsire approved of his plan. I made a vow to protect your daughter, and I’m fighting tomorrow. Sky’s enemies are
my
enemies.”

“Let him fight, Malcolm.” Robley placed his hand on the earl’s shoulder. “According to Sky, he’s earned the right.”

“Humph.” The earl turned his attention to the map and pointed. “Here is where Hunter and the earl of Sutherland’s men are camped. At dawn, they’ll move here.” He slid his finger to the place where he and Robley had spied upon the Erskines from the top of the hill.

Struan nodded. “High ground. Always a good position to hold.”

“Our cousin Murray’s soldiers are already on the south side.” The earl pointed again. “Just before daybreak, we’ll land on the north shore, and at the signal, we’ll converge upon the Erskines from all sides.” He eyed Struan. “Do ye wish to borrow what armor we may find that suits you?”

“Nay. I prefer my brigandine. I can move more freely.”

“Hmm, but you’re also more vulnerable to the bite of blades and arrows.” Malcolm sent him a pointed look.

For the next half hour, the seven of them debated the merits of armor versus hauberks and brigandines. That segued into a discussion of various weapons of war, and the cannon the Erskines had aimed toward the island.

Struan straightened where he sat. “I can attest to the fact that in this century, cannons are untrustworthy and prone to cause as much damage to those who fire them as to the target they’re aimed upon. It’ll be a few hundred years yet before the bugs are worked out.”

Dylan frowned. “Bugs?”

“Flaws,” Struan amended.

“Och, well, I’m off to bed.” Owain yawned. “We’ll be up before dawn, aye?”

“Aye.” Rob nodded. “Struan, you’re welcome to share my chamber. I’ll have a pallet sent up anon.”

“My thanks,” Struan said, pushing himself from the table.

“Before you’re off to your rest, I’d like a word, Sir Struan.” Malcolm stood with his back to the hearth, his arms crossed in front of his broad chest, and his stance wide.

Rob’s brow rose, and he caught Struan’s eye, giving him a slight nod. “I trust you’ll show the lad to my chamber once you’ve finished expressing the fullness of your gratitude, Malcolm.”

The earl grunted by way of a response, and once again Struan’s mouth went dry, as one by one the rest of their party wandered above stairs to their various chambers. Struan sat back down on the bench and faced the hearth with his back resting against the trestle table. He needed the support.

“I am indeed grateful to you and to the Gordons,” the earl began. “’Tis my understanding that our daughter spent almost three months in your company.” The earl’s jaw muscle twitched. “The past handful of days the two of you have traveled the countryside . . . alone.” His brow lowered in a most fierce fatherlike manner. “Now I must ask, what are you to Sky, and what is she to you?”

His ears rang with the rushing of his blood. Struan swallowed a few times, attempting to gather his wits. No use in lying. “I love your daughter, Laird, and I believe she loves me.”

Malcolm’s scowl deepened. “Be that as it may—”

“I’ve asked her to return to Gordon Hollow with me. I hope to marry her in a year or two, once she’s—”

“That I will no’ permit. Sky has a responsibility and an obligation to our clan. She is of noble—”

“So that’s where she gets that asinine refrain she’s forever spouting.” He shot up. “It’s just that kind of bullshit thinking that almost got her killed.”

“Asinine refrain?” Malcolm took a step closer. “She is our daughter. Her mother and I love her more than you can imagine. We wish to see her well settled, happy . . . somewhere nearby—no’ in the distant future.”

“Is that why you traded her off to that scum, Oliver?” The earl hadn’t said the words, but the implication was crystal clear. Being wed to a bastard and
well settled
were not a word match. His muscles tensed. “Sky told me the story about you and your Lady True. What’s with the double standard? It was all right for you to marry a woman from the future, but—”

“The difference being, I was the heir to an earldom. Our clan did no’ need a dowry, and she brought with her gifts enough that all kent she was worth more than gold. You, on the other hand—”

“
I
am a landowner with a thriving business. I can well support a wife and family.” He wasn’t about to touch the issue of his illegitimacy. “It may surprise you to know Sky has no intentions of allowing herself to be bartered off in marriage again. She won’t sacrifice herself for the sake of the clan, so you can forget about handing her off to some stranger in exchange for thirty pieces of silver, a handful of dirt or an alliance that will be broken at the slightest provocation.”

“You’ve . . . lain with her, haven’t you?”

“
Tha
t, my lord, is none of your business.”

Several seconds of uncomfortable glaring ensued. Struan fisted his hands, ready to defend himself should the earl decide to attempt murder.

“Malcolm,” a soft feminine voice called from the stairs. “Come to bed,
mo céile
. You know I can’t sleep unless you’re beside me.” Lady True cast Struan a sympathetic look. “You’ve harassed the lad enough for one night. Let him go to his rest.”

Malcolm cast his lady wife a tender look before turning back to glare at Struan. “Tomorrow we fight the Erskines. For this night, we’ll set aside our . . . discussion, but rest assured—I am no’ finished with you yet, and I willna grant you my permission to wed my daughter.”

“’Course not,” Struan muttered. “Didn’t expect you would.”

Malcolm turned on his heel and strode to the stairs. “Follow me. I’ll show you where you are to sleep.”

His heart heavy, Struan followed Malcolm up the narrow stairs. If he couldn’t get close enough to Sky to talk to her, and with her da dead set against him, what hope did he have of convincing her to return home with him?

Responsibility and obligation.
If there was one thing he knew about his lady, it was that honor and obligation to her clan were deeply engrained in her soul. Sky was loyal to a fault. What were the odds that she’d turn her back on all that obligation and duty business for his sake? Bone weary, he trod upon the corridor’s medieval floorboards.

Malcolm stopped and nodded toward a door. “Here,” he said, continuing on without another word.

Struan opened the heavy wooden door. A fire in the small hearth cast warm tendrils of dancing light around the chamber. Robley was already in bed, and a pallet and blanket had been laid out against the wall. Struan removed his clothing, hanging them on pegs in the wall. Hopefully they’d dry by morning. He settled himself upon the pallet and stared at the beamed ceiling.

“Dinna give up, lad,” Rob said. “Erin and I faced much worse, and everything sorted itself out in the end.”

“Malcolm is not about to give his daughter to the bastard son of a long-dead earl,” he huffed out. “I have nothing to offer here but my sword.”

“Och, but Sky comes with a nice bit of land and a tidy fortune.” Robley grunted. “My cousin is motivated more by fear that you’ll take Sky away from him than he is by the unfortunate circumstances of your birth. If she means that much to you, you might consider staying here.”

“The twenty-first century has a lot more to offer, as you know. Besides, I already own a nice bit of land. I have a business, a nice savings account and a wonderful adoptive family.”

“Och, well, you’ve much to think upon. Try to get some rest. We’ve a full day ahead of us on the morrow.”

Struan continued to stare at the ceiling. Would he meet his end upon the battlefield tomorrow? Perhaps everything up to this point had been leading to yet another field and another fight, and this time he wouldn’t be so lucky. Rest? Not bloody likely. His gut knotted, and his mind went round and round on the hamster wheel to nowhere inside his head.

He’d live or die; Sky would return to Gordon Hollow with him or she wouldn’t. Everything could change in a heartbeat, and somehow he knew tomorrow would be the day that fate would reveal whether or not it was for or against him.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

S
ky awoke to the sound of booted feet traipsing down the passageway outside her door, along with muffled male voices. She slipped out of bed, snatched up a gown and pulled it on over her night rail. Running out of her chamber in her bare feet, she caught a glimpse of Struan just as he reached the top of the stairs. “Hold, Struan, we must speak,” she said, careful to keep her voice low.

He turned to face her, his expression unreadable in the predawn dimness. So much needed to be said, but she had no notion where to start. She hurried to catch up with him. “Do you mean to fight with my kinsmen this day?”

“I do, and don’t try to argue me out of it.” His expression was closed, but she felt his resolve as if it were a stone wall between them. “And
don’t
worry about me,” he added.

“I ken better than to try to talk sense into you, and I
will
worry whether you wish me to or no’.” Oh, how she wished she could find a reason to keep him inside Moigh Hall and away from the danger awaiting him. “You’ve already done more than I have asked of you. ’Tis no’ your fight. You need no’ risk your life for—”

“Didn’t you just say you wouldn’t try to talk sense into me?” One side of his mouth turned up for an instant, and then the smile was gone. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

Sky caught his hand and turned to kiss his palm. “Struan, why did you no’ tell me who your father was, or—”

“That I’m a bastard?”

“Aye. That too.”

He shrugged and stared at something over her head. “I didn’t want to see . . .” He cleared his throat. “I wasn’t certain how you’d react, and I didn’t want to risk finding out. I suffered a great deal of ridicule as a child. I was reviled by my half siblings and by their dam. When you look at me, your eyes shine. If that light were to dim because—”

“Och, Struan, I dinna ken whether to shake sense into you or to hold you.” Even in the half-light she could see his Adam’s apple bob. She shook her head. “Why would you think something so beyond your control would affect how I look upon you? It grieves me to hear you say such a thing.” She stepped closer. “Do you no’ ken me at all?”

His chest rose and fell as if breathing were a chore. He cradled her face between his strong, callused hands and pressed his forehead to hers. “Aye. I ken you well enough, love. The problem lies with me, not with you.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she gripped his wrists. “Promise me you’ll come back to me unharmed, for you own my heart—today and always.”

He crushed her to him, his mouth finding hers in a scorching kiss. Her heart beat wildly within her, and she pressed herself against him, memorizing every detail as a keepsake for all time.

“Struan, lad. ’Tis time. We must be off before the sun rises,” Robley called up from the hall.

“You hold my heart as well, Sky.” He set her away from him. “When this is over, we need to make some decisions.” He wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. “
Don’t
worry about me.”

“I
will
worry. Stubborn man.”

“Obstinate woman.” He turned and strode down the stairs.

Sky sent up a prayer, nay, a desperate plea to the heavens to keep him safe. He loved her. She loved him. All that remained was overcoming the obstacles that stood between them. The most difficult of which was her sire’s disapproval. Even without her gifts, she could see it in the way her da looked at Struan.

Never in her life had she considered defying her sire. He was the earl and laird of clan MacKintosh. No one defied him. How could she do so now? There was so much to consider. Between the two of them, who was to be wrenched from everything they held dear? She had her family, clan, wealth and standing in her century. Struan had land and a family he cared deeply about in the twenty-first century.

Her stomach churned. What if the obstacles proved too great, and they could not come to an accord? Mayhap ’twould be better for his sake if she refused him and sent him home to Gordon Hollow without her. Torn between her love for Struan and her love for her family, she returned to her chamber to prepare herself for the long day ahead.

Sky washed her hands in the bucket of hot water and scanned the great hall. All but a score of her clansmen had departed for the mainland before dawn. She and the women in the keep had been at their labors ever since. Old men from the village, taking refuge on the island, carried in barrels and broad planks, setting them up as makeshift tables where they could lay the wounded to be tended. Her sisters and a few servants were busy washing down every available surface with a mixture of boiled water and vinegar. The acrid scent tickled the inside of Sky’s nose. She sneezed.

“Bless you,” her mother said, glancing at her. True was busy sterilizing needles and silk thread. Jars of herbs, unguents, healing salves and tinctures were lined up along the high table, like soldiers awaiting their orders.

It had been months since Sky had practiced the healing arts, and this time, doing so held a far greater weight. She couldn’t shake her fear for Struan. Had she been given the chance, she might have slipped a sleeping draught into his morning ale, preventing him from going off to battle.

Don’t try to argue me out of it.
Och, she kent well enough trying to talk sense to the man was a wasted effort. His head was every bit as thick as her sire’s. Even believing he would meet his end in her century, he had marched off with sword in hand, ready to lend himself to a cause not his own. Her heart swelled and ached all at the same time. “Stubborn man,” she muttered under her breath.

She snatched up the baskets she’d gathered and moved to the dais to join her mother. There, Sky cut clean strips of linen to be used as bandages, rolling each one before tucking them into the row of waiting baskets. A fire burned in both hearths, with large cauldrons of water set upon iron hooks to boil. Cook had more cauldrons going in the kitchen, and there were those whose job it would be to keep the cauldrons filled and boiling until the last man had been tended. They would need all the sterilized water for bathing wounds, cleaning their needles, knives and hands.

“Sky,” her mother said, glancing at her. “I’m afraid I caught your father attempting to intimidate Struan last night.”

Sky groaned. “Da told Struan he’d no’ permit me to wed him, didn’t he?”

“He did indeed.” Her mother sighed. “I hope you understand Malcolm is motivated by fear of losing you again. It’s not prejudice against Struan’s lack of status. We grieved your loss deeply. Your disappearance was extremely hard on all of us.”

Pressure squeezed her chest. If she chose to return to the future with Struan, she’d cause so much more pain to her kin. “When I overheard Oliver telling his mistress of his plans, I vowed to return home and continue my training with Erin as a midwife. I vowed I’d never wed.” She kept her gaze on the strips of linen before her.

“Oh, my dear. You’re so young yet. Just because—”

“I canna face another betrothal with some stranger, a noble who sees me as naught but a purse and a bit of ground. I willna agree to another betrothal contract. If I canna alter Da’s mind where Struan is concerned, I will hold to my vow.”

Sky studied the row of baskets before her. “Och, so much has been left unsettled. Struan has asked me to return to Gordon Hollow with him, and I have asked him to remain here with me. We are at yet another impasse.”

Could she leave her family behind? She’d always believed her rank obligated her to sacrifice her own happiness for the good of the clan. After spending time in the twenty-first century, witnessing for herself how everyone had the freedom to choose their own path, she wasn’t sure she could fit back into the confines of her role in her century.

“Another impasse?” Her mother flashed her a questioning look.

“Aye, Struan tried his best to convince me ’twas folly to attempt returning to this century. He may have had it aright.” She glanced at her ma. “He believes he escaped death at Halidon Hill, and that he’s been living on borrowed time ever since. He fears he’s meant to die here.” Her voice hitched. “Yet, to protect
me
, he came anyway, and now he’s off fighting the Erskines.” She shook her head. “If aught happens to him, how will I bear it?”

Her mother’s arms came around her, and Sky succumbed to the fear and grief that had plagued her since the day she rode out of Kildrummy to find her da and brother. “I’ve made e-everything w-worse,” she sobbed. “And now S-Struan’s life is at r-risk. The Erskines willna c-cease in their pursuit of vengeance until they have spilled his
blood
.”

“Hush, now. Regardless of the choices you’ve made, we would still be at war with the earl of Mar. When I learned you had fallen through time, I knew at the very least you were safe from whatever evil we sensed at Kildrummy.” She patted Sky’s shoulder. “Though I missed you terribly, I know you’re brave and resourceful. I trusted you would find your way no matter where you landed.”

“I-I was fortunate. I fell into a kind and compassionate family willing to aid me.”

“The day you disappeared, Helen was the one to unravel the mystery permeating the keep. She intuited your life was at risk and alerted us. She felt the threat growing stronger that day, most likely around the same time you heard Oliver telling his lover of his plans. I had already discussed my fears with Malcolm, and when Helen came to us, we agreed to gather everyone and leave before the wedding took place.” Her mother lifted Sky’s chin to peer into her eyes. “So you see? Either way we’d be at war.”

“Why did you no’ tell me?” Sky cried.

“I would have, but you disappeared. The chaos that ensued gave us the perfect opportunity to slip away. I almost wonder if Madame Giselle had anything to do with the portal opening when it did.”

“I dinna believe so.” She shared what the McGladreys had learned, and how the ring at Kildrummy had been responsible for comings and goings throughout the centuries. A loud booming resounded from the mainland, and Sky flinched.

“The Erskines’ cannon no doubt,” her mother bit out. “Best ready ourselves. It won’t be long before the wounded begin trickling to the island. Once you’re done with the bandages, best begin brewing the medicinal tea. Mind, you’ll want to mix equal parts red willow bark with the antiseptic and antibiotic herbs. I’ll help.” She reached for her earthenware jars and rose from her place.

“Sarah,” her mother called out, “go tell cook to gather several clean ewers for tea. Helen,” she continued. “Go and fetch the
uisge-beatha
from the buttery. The men will appreciate the numbing effects of the strong spirits, and we’ll use it to disinfect their wounds.”

As her mother predicted, it wasn’t long before the villagers began ferrying the wounded from the mainland, whilst the cannon continued to fire. Did a single ball make it to land upon their island? Sky shook her head and immersed herself in tending gashes, broken bones and pulling arrows from torn flesh.

The young lad currently stretched out before her writhed in agony. He’d suffered a wound far beyond her skills to fix. His torso had been sliced from side to side, and his entrails were severed clean through. All she could do was to stay by his side and make him as comfortable as possible until death took him far from the pain. His moans pierced her heart. Too young. His life had been wasted by a senseless desire for vengeance. She was not given to hatred, but in that moment, she truly hated the earl of Mar.

By midafternoon, her back ached and fatigue blurred her vision. Sky blinked against the burn in her weary eyes, straightened and rolled her shoulders to ease some of the tightness. They’d lost eight good lads, and saved a score. Each time more wounded were brought into the keep, she searched their agonized faces for Struan, heaving a sigh of relief each time she didn’t find him amongst the suffering.

Mayhap he’d survive the day after all, or mayhap he lay dead somewhere upon the mainland. That didn’t bear thinking upon, and she moved to wash her hands in one of the many buckets the servants kept filled with clean water.

“Sky,” Connor shouted from the doors, his voice filling the great hall.