The Laird's Right (21 page)

Shoving men aside, Alec caught him. He twisted his torso, powering his swing with every drop of strength and chopped into Uilleam’s gut. The man fell.

Pressing his advantage, Alec stabbed down, burying his blade between the man’s eyes.

“Get off Cameron land.” Alec kicked him.

From the rear, Cameron forces, from foot soldiers to claymore wielding men, overran the MacGillivary.

Chattan forces lay wasted on the earth. Scattered about the glen, were dying horses and axes, pikes, dirks and claymores. Men’s cries replaced the roar of battling. Horses trotted through the field, absent their rider. Blood dried on Alec. His mouth was not as dry as blood wet it. Dirt covered him. His plaid stuck to his body. He wiped his arm across his forehead, mixing the blood, dirt and sweat to a smear.

Hurley stood before a pile of dead and raised his sword high. “We are victorious.”

Pulling his sword from the man’s head, Alec heard the warning call breaking the eerie silence.

* * * *

Portia fled to the safety of the chamber. She pressed both hands tight over her mouth to kill the scream within her. The tears didn’t stop. She scraped them away.

She clutched the back of the chair until the wood creaked and her knuckles nearly broke. The clock ticked. She wasn’t afraid. Not anymore.

For the first time in her life, she wanted to kill a man with her bare hands and let the animals feast on his putrefied remains. She lacked the power to accomplish the feat but she had these soaring walls and highlanders, though their numbers were low but surely enough to triumph over a dozen English men.

All she had to do was hold him off until Laird MacLean arrived or hopefully, Alec.

She raised her eyes heavenward.
Alec, please hurry.

One fact for sure, she couldn’t stay here and hide. She would lead. She exited the room.

“Cairine, check on the food and water supply and gather supplies. Leah, see to safety precautions. I have no wish for a fire within these walls. We will defend our home.”

She slammed her fist against her open palm. She would not turn her from her course. She shouted out more orders on her return to the battlements.

The winds held more of a chill than earlier. Rains were coming, stirring the scent of peat and decomposing foliage. The night would not be a comfort for the baron.

“There aren’t many trees to cut down for the siege and those that are, happen to be a ride from here. He won’t spare the men, not yet at least.” She may be a noble woman but she had some skill in battles.

“There are still winter stores outside the walls.” Cairine held her hands out.

“I cannot do anything about that. What about the clansfolk?”

“Most have fled. They know what to do,” Leah said.

She nodded. “Most of the men are off. We must do something before their return.” She turned her regard to the distance obscured by the mist.
If he returns…

“Why?”

“They will be tired and riding in to another fight.”

In the distance, the baron set up his tent and earned the laughs of the guards. “A wee fearful of a wee bit of winds and rain—Tis fine weather—Och! Is that a barrel of wine? Is that the laird?”

A force of riders approached. Ten…nay…twenty men rode forward. Portia narrowed her gaze to see more clearly. “Nay, MacKintosh.”

* * * *

Hagan gave the order to fire. Arrows flew from the castle’s murder holes. Some landed in the ground, quivering uselessly. Too few found purchase in human flesh.

“Cease,” Portia ordered. “Save them for when they are near.”

Below the army gathered the lonely foot soldier who worked for food, clothing and some gold. Aye, the numbers must be controlled but they would quit once their lord died. Portia wanted to kill the man. Not for her. She didn’t fear him. Nay, he must be banished to Hell to reap what he had sown.

“I beg of you, Lairdess. Seek shelter. The laird winna like if anything happened to you.” He clasped his hands together, begging her to find protection.

“Hagan, I am not leaving.”

“Do not be stubborn. I cannot protect you and the castle.” Poor man’s face drooped from his pleading. There might have been tears. There certainly was a little wetness about the rims.

“Protect the castle first. I shall be fine.”

“The laird won’t like if you are harmed,” Hagan grumbled.

“And I won’t like if he takes this castle.”

Hagan shook his head and mumbled something about women and stubbornness.

She could do nothing as the first wave stormed the castle. The attack was ineffective, wasting resources and willpower for a fruitless measure, pleased they would tire themselves out.

“Take cover!”

She remained at the wall.

A Cameron tossed Portia behind the safety of the tower. The guttural yells of courage crashed over the wall. Around her, guards bellowed orders as they fought against it. A dozen sounds mixed together so nothing was distinguishable. She knew that this was what Hell must sound like.

Her ears still buzzed after the attack ceased. She pushed off the wall.

“Portia! Portia, come to the wall, dear!”

She came forward. Baron de Mowbray sat on his armored mount. She wanted to spit on him but it wouldn’t reach.

“I hate doing this. I would rather focus my attention on you solely. However, you have left me no choice. This is but a sample of the torture I will inflict upon these barbarians. Bring him to me.”

Two men dragged a bloody man forward. One raised his head by gripping his hair. The messenger she had sent to Alec. Word would not reach him. She must protect the clan and castle.

The other looped a rope around his neck and gave the other end to de Mowbray.

He twisted the slack about his wrist. “I will kill one villager an hour and I will light the night sky with their homes. Come to me and then there will be peace.”

“He lies. He wants ye in his clutches.” Hagan spat.

“I know.”

“Ye canna go.”

She covered her mouth to stop her from gagging. “I must. All isn’t over. Send word again to Alec but be smarter. For now, he needs me alive and that is my chance.”

Hagan chased after her as she left the battlements. “I canna let ye leave here. The laird will have my head.”

“I must.”

Hagan shook his head. “I shall not allow this.”

“I am your lairdess. You will obey.”

“I will disobey.” He held up his hand. “Whatever punishment ye can afflict upon me woold be nothing compared to da laird. So I will bound ye and tuck ye away.”

“Very well but there is one thing I need you to do.”

After she gave instructions to a vexed Hagan, she made one stop before she turned herself over to the devil, all the while praying her savior came soon.

Chapter Sixteen

MacKintosh bastards! Alec roared the Cameron war cry as he rode up on Quinlan’s forces. A small contingent fled. What was the rest of MacKintosh’s plan? Attack the castle or cut them off as they rode home.

Quinlan dragged a dying MacKintosh. “What is your laird’s plan?” He punched him in the chest when the man smiled.

Blood spurted out his mouth. “He’s with the baron at Cam—” he choked and Quinlan flung him aside.

“Portia. Gather the men!” His men knew what to do and he had left orders with Hagan to protect Portia and that meant not letting one man, woman, child or bird beyond the castle’s thick walls. Even with his numbers chopped down, he could regroup and be victorious but nothing stop the white terror nearly shattering his body.

The damn horse didn’t gallop fast enough. If he lost Portia, he would scour the land until he killed the Sassenach bastard.

Riding home, he came upon the road leading to the castle. He had to get there before she was harmed. A man stepped into the road. Alec yanked back his reins.

“The castle is under attack.” Brus grabbed the bridle.

“MacKintosh has joined with him.”

“I’ve gathered men, ready ta fight,” Brus screamed as Alec rode off.

* * * *

Portia continued forward between the column of men. She disregarded their curious stares and fixed her attention on the man at the tent’s opening. A smile graced his handsome face.

She grimaced, remembering ladies waxing on about his golden looks and striking blue eyes that twinkled when they caught the candlelight. Portia had been fooled in the beginning, but soon learned the evil they held.

She locked her eyes on him, refusing to cower. He cradled her hand and stroked his thumb over the back of it. His leather glove provided no protection against the sickening sensation churning within her.

“You look like a heathen.”

Portia snatched her hand away, upset she reacted to his goading. He chuckled then sucked his teeth.

“I love how you respond to me. Never stop. I wouldn’t like it.”

MacKintosh sauntered over. “Lairdess Cameron.”

“I see you have made a deal with the devil. Does your back pain you?”

“Nay.” Confusion deepened his burr.

“Forgive me. He hasn’t driven your sword in it yet.”

“Portia, naughty.” He stroked the back of his hand along her cheek then slapped her.

She fell to her knees. Her teeth rattled. Her neck cramped from being wrenched. Her cheek, eye and lip throbbed and she began to feel them swell.

“Portia, this is for the better. He will release you in a year to live your life away from him and with your father. I vowed not to harm you.” He shook her when she gave no response.

She pinned him with her gaze. “Never call me by my name. I am Lairdess Cameron.”

“Raze this hell to the ground.” With all the courtesies of a knight of the realm, de Mowbray held out his hand to her. Portia took it even allowed the man to assist her on his horse. He patted her leg.

She sent a last look at the castle. Soon, her plan would start.

* * * *

Alec hovered a distance away from the castle. His mind raced, formulating plans of attack, plans interrupted by his fears for Portia. Duncan told him lead or rule.

But he couldn’t do either without Portia. “Ten men with me. Hurley and Ronan lead the men and get back to Cameron Castle. If you can, kill MacKintosh.”

With men at his side, Alec rode off to get the woman he loved.

He drew his sword at the sound of approaching men. Duncan appeared. Gone was the amicable man in his place was Black Duncan the man who set the highlands trembling.

“I have come to kill some English men. I have sent some men to Cameron Castle.”

A red spread across his vision. He’d kill the man slowly.

Alec reached the shores of Loch Lochy to see the English on the shore. Ten ships dotted the beach. Men scurried onto boats while others hurried to load the horses. Among the chaos, he couldn’t find Portia. He charged ahead.

MacLeans and Camerons rode at his side. The army stopped their fleeing and picked up their weapons and rushed to protect their lord. 

The cowardly baron was in the rear. He ran to the boats, dragging Portia along. She threw herself to the ground. Alec cut and slashed his way through the men. He heard Portia call to him but couldn’t see her. He cut, parried and struck the men before him. Yet he never seemed to get close enough.

Then they were fewer men as they defended themselves against Cameron and MacLean blades.

The baron pushed Portia before him and held his sword aloft. “Stay back. I will kill her.”

“You need her dowry.”

“She is my wife. I will let you have her after I get her dowry.”

“I let you have my claymore now.”

Alec leapt from his horse. He had to get her away from him. He almost thought to put down his sword until he saw her wiggling her fingers.

Alec shifted just as she stabbed the baron in his thigh. He shoved her aside.

“Run,” Alec bellowed as he swung his sword. The baron jumped out of the way. Alec did not press his advantage.

“I’ll show you how an honorable man kills someone.” Alec kicked a sword over to him.

The baron picked it up. “Stupid.” The man rushed him. Alec kicked out at his wounded leg. He toppled, clutching his gushing thigh and cried out in pain.

“Get up.”

The baron cried out as he climbed to his feet, keeping pressure off the one with the dirk sticking out of it.

Mowbray lifted the sword. Alec punched him in the face with the pommel. He fell backward. Blood, teeth and bone scattered in different directions. Something scraped across his face.

“Come on, coward.” Alec buried the hilt of his blade in his shoulder. He dropped the sword. “Fight and die like a man or I’ll kill you like the vermin you wish you were.”

The man rose, throwing sand at Alec’s face. His closed his eyes then he put all his force into the arc and cut the man’s head off. It rolled in the surf, tossed about in the foam.

Portia leapt into his arms. She wiped dirt and blood from his face and planted kisses all over. He held her close, smelling the wildflower scent of her soap and her sweat that reminded him she was unharmed and back with him.

“Is that the welcome we all will receive?”

Alec looked up to see Lachlan standing over them. Duncan was at his side.

“Nay, we must return to home.” She yanked at Alec’s arm. “MacKintosh—”

“Aye, we know.”

Holding Portia’s hand, he returned to his horse. The ride back home passed quicker than his ride to save Portia. Riding up, he spotted a fireball rolling from the castle gates. MacKintosh and his men were gone and Camerons and MacLeans stood in their place.

Hagan ran to him. “My lady’s plan worked. Some men snuck from the castle ta circle them. Some men rushed forward to fight the fire while others fled. And we cut down their forces.”

Alec hugged her tight. He calmed at the solid, lively weight of his wife. He gawked at Portia. “What did you burn?”

The men looked to the lairdess.

Portia cringed. “The woodcarver’s things. He did a great deal of work. Sadly, nothing remains.”