The Devil in Plaid(13)

Jamie turned and shouted down to Michael. “Prepare for an attack but make no move unless I give the signal.” Then he called to the guardsmen at the gate, “Lower the bridge.”

Jamie stood with his feet wide and his arms crossed over his chest while he watched the rider nudge his horse cautiously into the courtyard of Castle Làidir. With a wary eye on Jamie, the warrior dismounted and dipped his head in greeting.

“I am Robert MacDonnell.” He withdrew a missive from his sporran. “I bring ye an urgent message from my laird.”

Jamie took the offered parchment and motioned his scribe to his side. “Phillip, what do ye make of this?” he asked, handing off the scroll.

Phillip’s eyes darted over the page, his lips moving in a quick flutter. Then he looked up at Jamie. “The MacDonnell wishes to unite with the MacLeod against their common enemy.”

Jamie arched his brow. “And who is that meant to be?”

“It says here Clan MacKenzie.”

Jamie crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the messenger. “If yer chieftain’s daughter is betrothed to the son of the Mackenzie, how is the Clan MacKenzie our common enemy?”

Robert’s eyes widened. “Do ye mean ye’ve not heard?”

Jamie lunged forward and grabbed the top fold of Robert’s plaid. “What have I not heard?” he snarled.

“The MacKenzie is dead and so is his son, both murdered,” the messenger blurted.

Jamie froze, then slowly released his grip on the man’s plaid. “Donald MacKenzie is dead?”

Robert made the sign of the cross. “He is, may God rest his soul.”

Jamie repeated the action of the MacDonnell warrior before he asked, “By whose hand?”

“His own brother, Ranulf MacKenzie. He has taken the clan by force.”

Jamie remembered seeing Ranulf MacKenzie at a gathering of the clans when Jamie was just eight years old. Ranulf had been regarded as the fiercest swordsmen at the games and won every honor in which he competed. It had been years since Jamie heard his name spoken. “The last I heard, Ranulf MacKenzie was a hired sword, making a fortune in England.”

Robert nodded. “Indeed, but now he has returned with the spoils of his trade, a fortune in gold and a small army of lethal swordsmen. They have adopted the MacKenzie plaid, but wear black leather jerkins that bear Ranulf’s own crest.”

“How has he come by his own crest?” Jamie asked.

“He claims to have been awarded the prestige by an English lord.”

Jamie shook his head in disbelief. “He is a traitor to his kin and his king.”

Fury coursed through him. It all was beginning to make sense. His own clan had not feuded with the MacKenzie for more than a hundred years. Jamie had assumed his enemy, Laird MacDonnell, had turned Laird MacKenzie against Jamie’s clan when their children became betrothed. But now, Jamie understood that the MacDonnell and his own clan did, indeed, face a new and treacherous foe. The recent, vicious attacks—the slaughter of innocents—revealed the character of Ranulf MacKenzie. He was a tyrant who needed to be stopped.

“Come inside the keep, Robert,” Jamie said, turning on his heel. Once inside the great hall, he started pacing.

Alone, his clan was powerless against the might of the Mackenzie, but how could he join with the MacDonnell? The feud between their clans went back hundreds of years. The origins of their conflict were now forgotten, but many of the elders remembered the last time the two clans had tried to reconcile.

Jamie’s grandfather, Angus MacLeod had agreed to a betrothal with Flora MacDonnell, the chieftain’s fifteen-year-old daughter. Flora arrived at Castle Làidir on Christmas, but the ceremony was not arranged until the feast day of the Epiphany. But when the day arrived, Angus was left standing at the altar, humiliated in front of his kin. As it turned out, the MacDonnell wench had stolen away in the night and demanded sanctuary at the kirk in a village south of MacLeod territory. Later, Angus and his father learned that she had accused them of battering women and claimed that she had been forced to flee for her very life.

No doubt, Flora had been in love with another or did not think Angus handsome enough. For Angus and his father had been good men who would never have touched a woman in anger. Although Angus and his father had been disappointed at the time, for they had truly wanted peace, they had not been surprised.

What else should they have expected from a MacDonnell lass?

“This is the opportunity for which we were hoping,” Matthew said, intruding upon his thoughts. “If we make an alliance with the MacDonnell, then yer cousin will send the warriors we need.”

Jamie whirled around. “Are ye mad? Ye want to put yer faith in them?” he said, jerking his head toward Robert.

“What other choice do we have?”

Fingal, one of the elders, came forward. Bushy gray brows shadowed his keen eyes. “How do we know this isn’t a trap? Our laird is right. We cannot trust the MacDonnell. His warriors have stolen twenty head of cattle this year alone.”

“Only after ye stole ours,” Robert growled.

Matthew reached for his sword, but Jamie stayed his hand. “Ye see, Matthew, even now we fight.”

Robert turned to Jamie. “Forgive my outburst. I ken our clans share no affection. This is known to all. We tinker each other’s cattle and raid each other’s stores, but what we have suffered at the hand of the new MacKenzie does not compare. The madman has butchered women and children. He is after blood. They didn’t steal from our stores; they burned them to the ground. This vile tyranny cannot go unchecked, nor can either of our clans stand alone against their strength.”