Margaret Mallory - The Guardian

“I never doubted ye would rescue me in the end,” she said. “Ye always have.”

Her faith in him overwhelmed him. Ian lifted her hand and kissed her fingers.

“And tomorrow, ye will make certain Hugh Dubh does not become our chieftain,” she said in a determined voice. “Ye will do it for the clan, for Connor, and for all the others. And ye will do it for me.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“What I wanted to tell ye is that Murdoc admitted he had an agreement with Hugh,” Sìleas said. “Hugh let him have Knock Castle—and me—in exchange for murdering Connor.”

“I knew it,” Ian said, pounding his fist on the dirt floor. “I promise ye, I will not let Hugh become chieftain.”

He’d murder Hugh before he let that happen.

She let her head drop against his chest again. “I want to stay awake just to feel your arms around me,” she said in a soft voice. “But I’m so tired, I can’t keep my eyes open.”

“Shhh. Sleep, mo chroí ,” he murmured, as she fell asleep in his arms.

Ian roused the men at first light. He was anxious to get his wife to a safer place and to see how Connor and the others fared. And there was no time to spare. The dark days of November were almost upon them; the celebration of Samhain would begin at sunset.

“Ian,” Niall called from the gate. “Come see this.”

Ian heard the urgency in his brother’s voice and ran to join him on the drawbridge.

“There,” Niall said, pointing out to sea, where three war galleys were sailing toward shore.

Damn, damn, damn. Ian squinted through the rain, trying to see who they were. God’s blood, the man standing in the prow of the front ship was none other than his former jailor, Shaggy Lachlan Cattanach Maclean.

Why would Shaggy be coming here? With three galleys loaded with clansmen, it did not appear to be a friendly visit.

“Christ above,” Ian said, “I don’t have time to deal with a pack of murdering Macleans this morning.”

Ian turned as Father Brian joined them on the drawbridge.

“I’m sure ye meant to call on the Lord’s help, rather than take His name in vain,” the priest said. “Because we’ll be needing divine intervention, that’s for certain.”

Indeed they would, for the Macleans were landing.

“Quick, I need every man up on the wall!” Ian shouted, as he ran inside. “Each of ye take a dead man’s shield with ye. The Macleans are coming, and we must make them believe there are more of us than there are.”

He didn’t object when Sìleas and Dina followed Gòrdan up a ladder carrying shields. If Shaggy’s men did break through, they would be safer up on the wall.

“I’m going down there,” Ian called out to the others.

The rain and extra shields would only fool Shaggy from a distance, which meant he needed to keep Shaggy on the beach.

Shaggy was the sort who could smell weakness, so Ian made a point of walking as if he had all the time in the world as he made his way down to where Shaggy and his men had landed their boats.

“A bit far from home, aren’t ye, Shaggy?” he said when he reached them.

He was glad to see that the younger man beside Shaggy was Hector, Shaggy’s eldest son. Hector had a reputation for being both more sensible and more trustworthy than his father.

“What kind of fool faces three war galleys full of men alone?” Shaggy said, glaring at him from under his black eyebrows. “But then, I heard that the Douglas says ye are fearless to the point of foolishness.”

Sometimes news traveled faster than men in the Highlands.

Ian shrugged. “I’m just curious about why ye are sailing these waters.”

“I’m searching for that sweet little galley ye stole from me,” Shaggy said. “I didn’t see it when I sailed by your house, so I’m still looking.”

Ian had the answer to one question. It must have been the sight of Shaggy’s three war galleys off shore that had sent the MacKinnons running after they attacked Connor and the others. He didn’t believe, however, that Shaggy had come just for his missing boat.

“I can’t offer ye the kind of hospitality I’d like to,” Ian said. “We had to burn the keep in the process of taking the castle, so the dungeon is in verra poor shape.”

Shaggy started toward him, but his son grabbed his arm.

“I’ve a proposition for ye,” Ian said. “And if ye aren’t as mad as they say, you’ll take it.”

Hector held his father back a second time. “Let’s hear it first, da.”

“You’ve backed the wrong man in helping Hugh take the chieftainship from Connor. We escaped your dungeon, and now we’ve taken Knock Castle.” Ian paused to let Shaggy consider this, before he said, “I suggest ye change sides while ye still can.”

Shaggy growled, which Ian took as sufficient encouragement to continue.

“Hugh sat by while the MacKinnons took Knock Castle, which is why you were thinking you could come and take it yourself,” Ian said. “If we have a chieftain who will not protect our lands, then the MacKinnons and the MacLeods will overrun us—and that will be the end of the MacDonalds on Skye.”

Ian paused for a long moment. “Have ye thought about what the MacKinnons and their more powerful brothers, the MacLeods, would do if they had all of Skye?”

“What do I care what the damned MacLeods do?” Shaggy said.

Ian spread his hands. “If they don’t have to worry about the MacDonalds on their doorstep, they’ll be looking south to your lands on the Isle of Mull.”

From the sideways glance Hector gave his father, Ian suspected Hector had given Shaggy precisely the same warning. Any man with sense knew maintaining a balance was important, with friends as well as enemies. In the Highlands, one often became the other.

“But that won’t happen, because Connor will be chieftain.” Ian folded his arms as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “Connor is not a man ye want as your enemy. So if ye have any notion of attempting to take Knock Castle, you’d best reconsider.”

Shaggy exchanged glances with his son.

“Hugh says he’ll join the rebellion against the Crown,” Shaggy said. “Would Connor?”

“Ye can’t believe a word Hugh tells ye.” Ian shrugged. “I can’t speak for Connor, but he’ll do whatever is best for our clan.”

Shaggy fixed his eyes on Ian as he scratched his face through his beard. Despite the rain and cold wind blowing off the sea, sweat trickled down Ian’s back. Time was growing short. He was anxious to have the Macleans gone so he could be on his way to get Connor.

All the same, he tilted his head back as if he were considering the weather until, at last, Shaggy spoke.

“Connor hasn’t taken a wife yet, has he?”

Ian was so surprised by the question that he nearly laughed. Still, it wasn’t hard to guess why Shaggy asked it. With the number of wives Shaggy had wed and then put aside over the years, he probably had an abundance of daughters to marry off.

“Connor isn’t married… yet,” Ian said, rocking back on his heels, and wishing the man would take his damned boats and leave.

“If Connor were to wed one of my daughters—assuming he does become your chieftain,” Shaggy said, “I could be persuaded to let him keep that galley as a wedding present.”

“That galley is a fine, fast boat,” Ian said. “I’ll speak to Connor about your daughters.”

“Tell him he can use the galley when he comes to fetch one of them.” Shaggy’s crooked teeth showed in the midst of his bushy beard, in what Ian took for a smile.

“When Connor comes for the wedding,” Shaggy called back as he headed to his boat, “we’ll discuss his position on the rebellion.”

Poor Connor. He would have his hands full when he became chieftain.