The Devil in Plaid(14)

“What of the MacKenzie people? Have they forgotten all goodness and decency, or do they cower beneath the might of this Ranulf?” Jamie asked.

Robert lifted his shoulders. “No one knows for certain what goes on at the MacKenzie keep.”

Jamie’s mind was reeling from the news. What was to be done? Robert was right—they had to resist, but after generations of war, how could the clans MacDonnell and MacLeod put aside their own prejudices?

He turned and looked at Robert. “I do not know how I can ever trust yer laird,” he said flatly.

“What choice do any of us have?” the man shot back.

“Might I make a suggestion,” a weak voice said, coming from the table in the corner. Argyle, the eldest of the MacLeods, slowly stood. Gripping tightly to his cane, he hobbled across the room, his back stooped, and stopped in front of Jamie.

Jamie bowed his head in respect to the older man. “What do ye have to say, Argyle?”

“If the MacKenzie’s lad is dead, then the MacDonnell’s daughter is unwed.”

Jamie knew what the old man was suggesting. He gritted his teeth at the idea of marrying the haughty slip of a woman he had met in the forest. He turned to Robert, knowing he could not discuss such an arrangement with a member of Clan MacDonnell present. “Robert, ye must be tired and in need of food.” Then he motioned to the lad still standing near the door, his young eyes wide and eager. “Edward, take Robert to the kitchen and see that he is properly fed.”

After Robert followed Edward from the room, Jamie turned back to Argyle and shook his head. “Do ye remember the last time a MacLeod man was betrothed to a MacDonnell woman?”

The old man wrinkled his brow. “I am one of the few still alive who does.”

“I have met this Fiona. She is no different than any other MacDonnell woman. They are inconstant, fickle, and weak. How can I bring such a lady into my clan, to be the example to my kin?”

“I do not think ye have a choice,” the old man rasped. “Without this alliance, ye may not have a clan at all.”

“Damnation,” Jamie cursed. His hands clenched in tight fists at what he had to do. “Matthew!”

His second stood up. “Aye, my laird.”

“See that my horse is readied. Then double the watch on the outer wall and on the watch towers throughout our land. Ye’re in command in my absence.”

“Where are ye going, my laird?”

Jamie didn’t answer. He couldn’t bring himself to utter the words.

“My laird?” Matthew repeated. Then finally he snapped, “Jamie!”

Jamie turned around. “I’m going to the MacDonnell to make an alliance.”

“But Jamie,” the older man called out. “Ye’re still covered in soot and blood. Should ye not bathe first. That is no way to ask for a lady’s hand.”

Jamie shook his head. “She’ll have me as I am or not at all.”





Chapter Seven


Fiona sat at the high table with her father on one side and Alasdair, the captain of the MacDonnell warriors, on her other.

The trencher she shared with her father went untouched.

She reached out and squeezed his hand. “Da,” she said softly. “Ye must eat. Ye will not serve yer clan by starving.”

He turned to look at her, a soft smile curving his lips. His faded blue eyes crinkled at their corners. “I could say as much to ye, but I will not, because I doubt ye could eat any more than I.” He released her hand and patted the slight roundness of his belly. “A few missed meals when my table has never known shortage will not hurt me.”

She lifted her shoulders unable to argue her point further. Even the idea of biting into a simple bannock twisted her stomach. She was a bundle of nerves as they waited…but for what?

Another attack from Ranulf MacKenzie?

For Jamie MacLeod to take advantage of their weakened state and raid what remained of their stores?

She shivered, imaging the fierce MacLeod standing in front of his men, his hair in tangled disarray, his fierce brow furrowed, his sword raised high as he declared war against her people.

“No word as yet from Robert?” her father asked, his words thankfully dispelling the unsettling images from her mind.

She shook her head. “Not yet.”

Although her father had sent Robert to Castle Làidir with the authority to form an alliance that would unite their clans against Ranulf MacKenzie, she placed no hope in that arrangement. Tears stung her eyes. She choked down the despair that fought to unravel her control. Jamie MacLeod was a hard, hateful man who would never consent to an alliance. She had no reason to hope at all. If she were honest, what they were waiting for…was the end—for they were doomed.

A flurry of activity outside the doors to the great hall drew her gaze. Her body tensed. A guard rushed into the room. “The MacLeod has arrived. We told him to wait in the courtyard but—"

“Get out of my way,” a booming voice shouted outside the hall.

She gripped the table. Both her father and Alasdair lunged to their feet.

A breath later, Jamie MacLeod’s towering figure thundered into the room. He was even more fearsome looking than when she met him just a fortnight before in the woods. His dull hair hung in even thicker tangles about his shoulders. Filth smeared his face and chest and streaked his legs.