Once a Warrior (34 page)

“And so you attempted to overthrow Malcolm by force,” Ariella supplied. “But you failed. And he banished you.”

“I didn’t have enough warriors supporting me at the time,” he acknowledged, shrugging. “And Malcolm’s army was still loyal to him. So I had to suffer the indignity of being driven from my clan with nothing, while Malcolm enjoyed the comfort and privileges of being a laird. But that didn’t last long.” His mouth twisted with malevolent satisfaction. “Surely you have heard about the unfortunate fate of the MacFane clan?”

Ariella stared at him, aghast. “You killed all those women and children?”

“What women and children?” asked Agnes, frowning.

“The responsibility for their safety lay with Malcolm,” said Roderic. “I was merely trying to demonstrate to the MacFanes that they had made a grave blunder in choosing him over me. Unfortunately, after convincing the Sinclairs that they were about to be attacked by the MacFanes, it was difficult to control them. The great Black Wolf, of course, was drunk that night and had no comprehension of the danger he was in. We sent a false message that the MacKays were under attack and needed him to come with his army. Stupidly, he believed it. He ordered his warriors to ride with him to the MacKay lands, leaving his precious castle with virtually no one to guard it.”

Horror flooded through her. She had long known Roderic was ruthless. He had unveiled the vile depths of his soul the day he murdered her father and killed her people in his bid to force her to give him the sword. But until this moment she had not truly understood the appalling extent of his depravity.

“You slaughtered the women and children of your own clan.” Her voice was heavy with loathing.

“It was not my clan anymore,” Roderic pointed out indifferently. “They had banished me.”

“Dear God,” whispered Agnes, her face ashen. “How could you do such a terrible thing?”

He barely spared her a glance as his hand whipped across her mouth. Agnes cried out and stumbled backward.

“Don’t
ever
speak to me that way,” he snarled.

She raised her trembling fingers to her lips. The pain shimmering in her eyes froze into fear as she examined the blood on her fingertips.

“Get back in the tent,” he commanded brusquely. “I’m sick of looking at you. You are of no further use to me anyway.”

Pity lanced Ariella’s anger as she saw Agnes stare at her lover in hopeless bewilderment. If not for Agnes’s treachery, her sister and her clan would be safe tonight, she reminded herself fiercely. Instead they were in grave danger. Although Roderic might decide to spare their lives in these woods, if she was forced to give him the sword, she and her people faced endless years of misery and torment. And should he choose to use the sword to expand the realm of his power, other clans in the Highlands would fall beneath his brutal rule. All because of this silly girl, who had been so thoroughly duped by the handsome face and silken charms of a monster. Ariella wanted to feel nothing but contempt for her. But she could not forget that she too had once been captivated by Roderic’s fine appearance and honeyed words, if only for a short while.

It was this recognition of her own naïveté that caused her to murmur gently, “Go on, then, Agnes. Catherine will be missing you, and the babe within you needs you to rest.”

Too shocked to speak, Agnes regarded her despondently. Tears began to spill down her face as she turned and scurried back to her tent, no longer the self-assured young woman she had seemed when she’d first emerged.

“Not an ounce of fire in that one,” Roderic observed caustically. He stroked the scar on his cheek as his gaze slithered down her body. “Unlike you.”

Ariella glared at him and said nothing.

“Perhaps we should continue this conversation in private,” he suggested, gesturing to a tent several yards away. “After you, fair Ariella.”

The warriors lying by the fires smirked as she walked past them. Ariella kept her head high and drew her cloak tighter around herself.
He will not touch me,
she reminded herself stonily, feeling the solid form of her dirk graze her thigh. She knew she might be able to stab Roderic once they were inside his tent. But without the presence of Harold’s forces surrounding the camp, Roderic’s warriors would then murder Catherine in retaliation.

She would have to find another way to freeze the fires of Roderic’s lust.

The tent was warmly lit by a pair of candles burning low in an intricate silver candelabra. A favorite of her father’s, the piece had graced his table in the great hall since she’d been a child. It sat upon a handsome desk that had been carved by Angus in his youth. Roderic’s bed was a pile of finely woven plaids strewn carelessly across the ground, each of which had been lovingly woven by the women of her clan to keep their families warm. Hate seized her in that moment, so overwhelming, her hand nearly reached for her dirk. She inhaled deeply. She was responsible for far more than simple revenge.

Roderic dropped the flap of the tent, enclosing them in the fabric dwelling. “Where is the sword?” he demanded brusquely.

“I don’t have it.”

His expression hardened. “I am not in the mood for games, Ariella. Give me the sword, or Catherine will be dragged in here and I will slice her throat open before your eyes.”

“I have no doubt you would,” said Ariella, feigning far greater calm than she felt. “Which is why if I had the sword, I would have given it to you by now.”

His expression grew pensive. It was clear he did not know whether or not to believe her. “Where is it?”

“I gave it to Laird MacFane.”

“You’re lying. Agnes told me both Malcolm and Gavin left last night, and you do not expect them to return.”

“I am not speaking of Malcolm,” she clarified. “I sent the sword to Harold MacFane, my betrothed, as a token to seal our marriage contract. He is on his way here now, with his great army.”

Rage hardened his features.

“But Harold does not know of the sword’s powers,” she quickly assured him, fearing she had roused his fury too much with her lie. “And the sword will not respond to him. Whoever would wield the sword must complete a trial first, and Harold has not done this.”

Roderic eyed her suspiciously. “What sort of trial?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “No one has ever witnessed it, and the trial is different for each who attempts it. Alpin has said it is a test of courage and strength.” Both of which Roderic had in abundance, she realized miserably.

“Agnes never mentioned anything about a trial,” he countered. “She said you could just give the sword to me.”

“Agnes wouldn’t know about the trial. My father inherited the sword by right of birth, as did his father, and his father before him. It is only when there is no direct male heir that the duty of choosing a new laird falls to the eldest-born daughter. Once that man is chosen, he must successfully complete this test.”

He scowled, irritated with this unexpected delay. “If the sword has no powers, why did you send it to Harold?”

“I sent it to him as a symbol of my troth,” she explained. “The sword itself is an object of great beauty. Even without its magic, it is still an exquisite example of artistry and craftsmanship.”

“You’re trying to trick me. When Harold comes, you will have him perform this trial and come after me, wielding this sword with all its powers.”

“Do you think I would risk the life of my sister in such a way?” she demanded impatiently. “The fact that I came here tonight, unarmed and unescorted, is proof I am conceding to your demands. I have left orders that when Harold arrives, he is to give the sword to one of my men, who will bring it into the woods. Your warriors will lead him here, and I will give it to you. Your success or failure during the trial is entirely up to you,” she finished. “If you fail, you cannot try again.”

“I will not fail,” he assured her. His eyes narrowed. “You should worry more about what will happen to Catherine if you are lying to me.”

“I am not lying.”

He studied her a moment, contemplating her assertion.

“Well then, sweet Ariella,” he said finally, removing his sword, “it seems we have some time together before Harold’s arrival.” He reached out and pulled her toward him. “I think it is time we finished what we once began.”

Ariella did not flinch when he placed his hands on her shoulders. She stood frozen as he opened the silver clasp fastening her cloak about her neck, and barely shivered as the heavy garment slid down her and pooled on the ground. Even when he sank his hand roughly into her hair and forced her head back, she regarded him with deliberate calm. And then, just as he lowered his mouth to hers, she stated in a soft, cold voice, “There is something you should know, Roderic.”

“What is it?” he asked, his lips a breath away from hers.

“I cannot bestow the powers of the sword if I am no longer chaste.”

He raised his head slightly and studied her. “You’re lying,” he decided, his mouth curving with amusement. “You tell me this because you despise my touch.”

He was right. She fought to control her revulsion as his breath blew hot against her.

This is the man who murdered my father.

“I do despise your touch,” she agreed. “But I am not lying.”

He smiled and lowered his mouth again. And then he hesitated, suddenly uncertain.

“You are lying,” he repeated. “Admit it.”

“I am not lying.”

His green eyes darkened with annoyance. Releasing his grip on her scalp, he wrapped his hands around her throat and began to squeeze.

Ariella struggled for air. He was allowing her just enough breath to speak, but she did not plead with him to stop. His strong fingers tightened until her throat was completely closed. Flashes of color and light began to burst in her head, and a deafening sound screamed in her ears. She closed her eyes, suddenly afraid he might actually strangle her in his determination to get the answer he wanted.

Abruptly, Roderic released her.

She inhaled a deep, ragged breath before raising her eyes to his. Then she allowed him to see the depths of her loathing. “Rape me now, and the sword will never be yours,” she spat.

She watched as his lust for her battled his desire for power. Suddenly he turned away in angry frustration.

“Gregor!” he shouted.

The heavy warrior raised the flap of the tent.

“Put her in the tent with the other two,” Roderic commanded stiffly. “Make sure they are under constant guard.”

Gregor regarded Ariella in surprise. Ariella returned his gaze with cool disdain. She thought she detected a flicker of admiration in his eyes, but she could not be certain.

“Come with me.”

She donned her cloak, then walked past Roderic and followed Gregor into the cool night air. The other warriors looked at her in astonishment, wondering how she had won this reprieve. Hating all of them, Ariella kept her spine straight and her eyes straight ahead.

Each of you will pay for your crimes against my clan,
she vowed silently.

She entered the somber glow of the tent to find Agnes huddled on a blanket, weeping openly, and little Catherine by her side, dabbing Agnes’s bloodied mouth with the hem of her gown as she tried to console her. Catherine looked up at her with wide, unbelieving eyes. Then she flew off the ground, wrapped her arms tightly around Ariella’s waist, and buried her face in the warm folds of her sister’s cloak.

“Ariella,” she began in a tiny, quivering voice, “can we please go home now?”

“Not just yet,” she murmured, ruffling her fingers through the child’s silky hair. “But soon.”

Despair gripped her as she made that promise. She had managed to stall Roderic until the arrival of Harold, and she was with her sister, which was what she had wanted. But they were trapped. Her people were no match for the brutality of Roderic’s warriors. And even if Harold arrived with his entire army, Roderic still had Catherine as a hostage. Until Ariella gave him the sword, and he had been invested with its powers, her sister was in grave danger. But if she did that, she was condemning her clan, and possibly other clans as well, to decades of intolerable suffering.

Suddenly overwhelmed by the pitiful sound of Agnes’s weeping and the desperate clutch of her sister holding fast to her for comfort, she found herself wishing, however illogically, not for Harold, but for Malcolm.

C
HAPTER
14

A blaze of fire etched the graceful lines of the castle against the velvet darkness. Torches spat and wavered every few feet along the battlements, creating a magnificent ring of flames, and amber light streamed from the arched windows, turning the intricate stonework to gold. The sight was as welcoming and glorious as any Malcolm had ever witnessed.

His fury deepened.

Instead of mourning his departure, even for one brief night, the MacKendricks had evidently decided that a grand celebration was in order. Of course, he reflected darkly. They were anxiously awaiting the arrival of their brave new laird and wanted to give him a spectacular welcome. They had done no less for Malcolm. On the day he had first come here, Ariella had dragged him into a frenzy of jugglers and poets, tumblers, speakers, and falling banners, not to mention those god-awful pipers. At the time, he had been infuriated at being made the object of such undeserved adulation. He had known that the moment he dismounted, her people would regard him with shock and pity, and wonder why they had gone to so much trouble to welcome a cripple. Yet tonight, as he stared in silence at the brilliant flames painting the MacKendrick castle in ripples of orange and gold, he found himself wishing that the castle burned for him.

As Ariella had last night.

“Obviously they are expecting Harold tonight,” remarked Gavin, halting his horse next to Malcolm’s. “They want him to see he is gaining something of rare beauty.”

“Harold could never appreciate what Ariella is offering,” Malcolm remarked scornfully. “The fact that he would force her to leave her home is evidence of that.”

“You once would have done the same, Malcolm,” Gavin reminded him. “It is not logical for a great chief to spend his time living on a small tract of land hidden amidst the mountains. Harold needs to be with the MacFanes and his army. The MacKendricks and this castle are but additional possessions to him, nothing more.”

“As is the wife he is coming to claim.”

“You can’t expect him to have any feelings for her. He has never met Ariella. At least not as a woman,” he qualified, smiling. “Somehow I doubt she mentioned in her letter that she had visited him once as a lad, with bare, grubby legs and filthy, cropped hair.”

An image of Rob filled his mind, standing defiantly before him, his slim legs braced apart and his arms folded across his flat chest. Malcolm shook his head, still amazed that Ariella had been able to deceive him for so long. “Poor Harold might remember her squalid appearance too well,” he remarked wryly, “and reject her offer.”

He continued to study the castle, wondering how Ariella would react when she learned he had returned. Would she fear his wrath? The thought evoked a perverse smile. It would be good to see her tremble in the face of his fury. It might help ease the pain and weariness he had been battling from the moment her foul drug had cleared his senses. Yes, he would make her fear him, he decided. At least for a short while.

He leaned forward in his saddle, suddenly uneasy. “Listen.”

Gavin listened a moment. “I hear nothing.”

“Don’t you think that is peculiar?”

Gavin regarded him quizzically. “Why?”

“The MacKendricks love music and revelry, whenever there is the least cause for celebration,” Malcolm explained. “If they believed Harold was coming tonight, they would have organized a feast for him. Don’t you think there would be lots of laughter and music on such an occasion?”

Gavin shrugged. “Perhaps their celebration is finished. Or maybe they didn’t want to begin until Harold arrived.”

Malcolm contemplated this a moment, then shook his head. “It is not so late that they would be finished,” he argued. “And even if they haven’t begun, Graham, Ramsay, and the other musicians would be practicing their welcoming piece. On the day we arrived, we could hear them blasting away on those bloody bagpipes for well over a mile before we rode through the gate.”

Gavin frowned and looked back at the silent castle. “You’re right.”

Malcolm urged Cain forward, his eyes searching the darkness. As they rode into the light spilling from the castle, he saw nearly two dozen shadowy figures positioned on the wall head.

“That’s odd,” he murmured. “They look almost as if they are—”

Two arrows ripped through the air and sank into the ground on either side of him, causing Cain to rear.

“Christ almighty!” he roared, trying to calm his horse.

“Don’t move another inch!” warned Angus from the wall head. “Or we’ll fill you so full of arrows, your blood will flow like water through a net!”

“I’ve got one aimed straight at your evil, festering heart,” added Dugald menacingly. “One wee move, and you’re dead!”

Malcolm looked up incredulously. “Angus? Dugald? What in the name of God do you think you’re doing?”

An uncertain silence followed. Then Angus’s white head cautiously poked through the battlements, his eyes squinting as he struggled to see through the darkness. “MacFane? Is that you?”

“It is. And Gavin too. What on earth is going on?”

“The lad is back!” shouted Angus jubilantly. “Hear me, everyone, the Black Wolf has returned!”

A relieved cheer rose into the night as those lying in wait on the wall head surged forward to see for themselves. Anxious questions began to fly at him from every direction.

“Did you bring your great army this time?” demanded Gordon.

“Are they hiding in the woods behind you?” asked Bryce.

“We were certain you would turn back,” called Helen, waving.

“Alpin said a warrior was coming, and we knew that had to be you,” said Ramsay. “Even though Ariella told us it was Harold.”

“When Ariella explained you had to leave,” added Graham, “we couldn’t believe she meant for good.”

It was wonderful to be welcomed back so. But the warmth flooding Malcolm’s chest was tempered with a stab of unease.

Something had happened in his absence.

“Open the gate,” he commanded.

He rode forward as the heavy wooden gate swung open, and the new portcullis was quickly raised. Once he and Gavin were in the courtyard, the portcullis dropped and the gate slammed shut. Young Colin came running forward to take hold of Cain.

“Welcome back, MacFane,” the boy said eagerly.

“Thank you, Colin.” He grunted in pain as he dismounted, then angrily dismissed the sensation. “Cain needs extra care this evening. He has traveled far today.”

“Yes, milord.” His face flushed with solemn pride, he took Gavin’s horse, then turned and led the two enormous chargers toward the stable.

Moving as swiftly as his stiff leg would allow, Malcolm entered the great hall, where much of the clan had assembled. His gaze swept over the torchlit room and a sea of anxious faces. Duncan and Andrew, he noted, had returned, and were regarding him with grave concern. Elizabeth stood in a far corner, her face pale and frightened.

Ariella was nowhere to be seen.

“Where is Ariella?” he demanded.

There was a moment of troubled silence before Niall grimly stated, “Roderic has her.”

Dread gripped him, so overwhelming he could barely draw a breath. “What do you mean?” he managed, his voice low.

“Roderic and his men captured Agnes and Catherine earlier today,” explained Duncan, his expression reflecting his relief that Malcolm had returned. “He sent Ariella a message demanding the MacKendrick sword in exchange for their release. He wants it by first light, or he will slit Catherine’s throat. Ariella was so terrified he would hurt Catherine, she went to Roderic tonight, without the sword. She is hoping to delay him until Harold MacFane arrives with his army.”

Malcolm accepted a wrinkled leaf of paper from him and swiftly scanned the message. “Christ almighty,” he swore furiously. “Does Roderic actually believe this idiocy about a magic sword?”

The clan exchanged uneasy glances.

Malcolm looked at them in exasperation. “Don’t tell me your people truly believe you have a sword with magical powers.”

“Well, now,” began Angus hesitantly, “it just so happens we do, lad.”

“Aye,” agreed Dugald. “We’ve had it now for some four hundred years.”

“Four hundred and twelve,” Gordon corrected. “According to Alpin, and he would know, of course. That was the year the great MacKendrick slayed a terrible two-headed beast with it.”

Malcolm didn’t know which astonished him more, the fact that they actually believed this drivel, or that Ariella’s life was in peril and he was wasting time standing here listening to it.

“For God’s sake, if you have some rusty old relic that you think is magic, just give it to Roderic and be done with it.”

“It isn’t that simple, MacFane,” said Niall. “Only Ariella can bestow the sword with its powers.”

“And whoever she gives it to immediately becomes the next MacKendrick,” added Andrew. “We shall be forced to follow him.”

“That is ridiculous,” he growled impatiently. “There is no such thing as a magic sword, and you people can follow whomever you damn well please, not some depraved bastard with an ancient weapon in his hand.”

“If Ariella gives the sword to Roderic, he will become the next MacKendrick,” said Gordon, his expression dead serious. “It is that simple.”

“Which is why it is Ariella’s responsibility to guard the sword from one who would harm us,” explained Angus. “She must choose the right one.”

“That is her solemn birthright,” added Dugald, “and her duty.”

Malcolm fought to control his anger. Although he didn’t believe this nonsense, it was obvious the MacKendricks did. Which meant Ariella probably did too. And someone had obviously convinced Roderic as well.

What the hell was the matter with all of them?

“Suppose what you are telling me is true,” he began, trying to sound as if he were at least entertaining the possibility. “With Roderic holding Ariella, Catherine, and Agnes hostage, what choice do you have but to give the sword to him?” His expression was harsh as he finished, “Do you have any idea of the barbarity Roderic is capable of?”

No one answered.

Yes, he realized grimly, searching their anxious expressions. The first time Roderic attacked, he had given the MacKendricks a brief but thorough taste of his cruelty. It had been nothing compared to the heinous slaughter he had inflicted on the MacFanes. But it had been enough to make them understand the gravity of their situation.

“We have no choice here,” he informed them. “And even less time. Give me this sword, and I will take it to Roderic now. I will make certain he releases his captives before I actually place it in his hands. If what you say is true, and only Ariella can bestow the sword with its powers to another, it won’t matter if he has the weapon alone, will it?”

“But then the sword will be gone,” pointed out Andrew.

Then make another one,
he thought cynically.

“Once I know Ariella, Catherine, and Agnes are safe, I will get it back for you,” he offered instead.

Angus looked uncertain. “How will you do that, lad?”

“With our help, of course,” interjected Duncan. “When Ariella, Catherine, and Agnes are free, we can attack Roderic’s camp.”

“We have already proved our ability to fight them,” pointed out Niall. “We must drive them away, so they will never try to attack us again.”

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room.

“No,” stated Malcolm firmly.

Duncan gave him an exasperated look. “Why not?”

“Luring men away from their home and loved ones is a favorite strategy of Roderic’s,” he explained. “I once fell prey to this tactic. Roderic made me believe another clan was under massive attack and needed my army’s protection. I led my warriors away, leaving only a small force at my holding.” He paused, reluctant to continue. “The devastation to my clan was—unspeakable.”

The MacKendricks regarded him sympathetically, not understanding the magnitude of his error.

Or that what had occurred was entirely his fault.

He could no longer lie to them, he realized. Somehow, in that moment, as they stared at him with such unmitigated trust, he wanted them to know the truth. And so he continued in a low, harsh voice. “Over two hundred women and children were slain that night. Young and old. Sick and able. Even women with child were not spared. Roderic and his allies murdered as many as they could—because the great Black Wolf, Laird MacFane, was drunk. And I stupidly, drunkenly, believed the enemy I was facing was elsewhere. For that unforgivable error I was stripped of my lairdship and banished forever from my clan. I am no longer MacFane,” he finished roughly, “and I lead no great army. Gavin and I live alone in a crude hut, some three days’ journey from here. That is where Ariella found me.”