The Devil in Plaid(47)

Fury coursed through him. He turned away from her, his hands gripping the mantle.

“Speak to me, Jamie.”

“I am angry,” he growled. He turned to face her. “Not at ye. I am angry at our fate.” He shook his head. “Ye cannot go. I will find another way, one that does not put ye at risk.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Ye’re my husband, and I am ye’re wife—but not first. First, we are laird and lady. This is my duty.”

“Nay, ‘tis mine,” he barked.

She took a deep breath. He watched her grapple for control. At length, she said in a steady voice. “I am capable of more than making yer keep smell nice. I can do this, Jamie.” She took his hand, her eyes beseeching. “Let me do this.”

He expelled a slow breath and cupped her cheeks. “Ye’re a stubborn woman and great lady, Fiona MacDonnell.”

A smile curved her lips. “Fiona MacLeod, if ye please.”

He kissed her. “I do please.”

“Then I can go?”

“I cannot promise that I will not recant what I am about to say, but…” He expelled another rush of air. “Aye, ye will take this Hamish and his son our message, but only Alasdair and Matthew can know. In the final hours after we march, I will reveal the truth of our plan to the rest of the warriors.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “This is the right course. Three clans will join together for lasting peace.” She stood on her toes, pressing a kiss to his lips. “I will be there and back before ye even have time to worry.”





Chapter Twenty Eight


Fiona stole into the lady’s chambers. Careful not to wake Abby, she tiptoed across the floor with a candle in hand to Esme’s side of the bed and nudged her sleeping maid awake.

Esme stirred. Her eyes blinked. Then her lids flew open. Fiona quickly brought her finger to her own lips, ensuring Esme did not speak. She motioned for her maid to follow. Hearing Esme’s soft footsteps padding behind her, Fiona carefully eased the door open and passed into Jamie’s empty chamber.

“My lady, what is—” Esme started to say, but then she faltered. Her gaze traveled over Fiona’s person. “Why are ye dressed?”

Fiona clasped Esme’s hands and held them close to her heart. “I cannot tell ye where I’m going, but I know I can trust ye to keep silent. And I need ye to help subdue wagging tongues. If anyone asks after me, tell them I awoke with a headache and took to bed. Will ye do that?”

Esme nodded. “Of course I will, my lady, although I do wish ye’d tell where ye’re going?”

Fiona shook her head. “I cannot, but I promise ye, I will be well-protected.”

“But, my lady,” Esme began, only to shake her head a moment later. “I know better than to argue with ye when ye’ve made up yer mind.” She expelled a long breath. “Ye have my word.” Esme pulled her into a crushing embrace. “Be careful, dear one.”

Fiona returned her beloved maid’s hug. “I will be back well after nightfall on the morrow.” She pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Now, back to bed with ye, and remember, do not say a word—to anyone.”

“I promise, my lady.”



Fiona galloped across the rolling moorland, gray and violet beneath the light of the full moon. Flanked by Matthew on one side and Alasdair on the other, she felt cocooned by strength and unquestionable loyalty. Still, the darkness was a constant reminder of the risk she took, but she would face any danger if it meant saving her clan.

Being a leader meant sacrifice—a lesson her parents had instilled within her from an early age. Her nobility came with great privilege and even greater responsibility. It was for her people that she rode, for the children she prayed to God she one day would bear, and their children.

“We should reach MacKenzie territory before first light,” Matthew called to her over the din of their horses’ hooves.

“Good,” Fiona said in approval. First light was the perfect hour to pay a busy fisherman and his young son a visit.

Hamish MacKenzie was a kind man with a ring of flaxen hair around his otherwise bald head. His son, Finn, was a hardworking and obedient lad, and his father’s pride. Fiona had not visited their seaside hut on her last visit to the MacKenzie fortress, but she had encountered Finn on his daily deliveries to the keep several times during her stay.

With confidence, she drove her heels into her horse’s flanks to reach their destination faster. As the sky began to lighten, she saw a small croft in the distance. A thin line of silver smoke curled out from the rooftop.

“We’re nearly there,” she called to Matthew. Her pulse raced. Wind whipped through her hair. She could not wait to see the look of surprise on Finn’s face when she galloped up to his doorstep.

“Blast,” Alasdair shouted. “Look to the East!”

Fiona sucked in a sharp breath and yanked on her reins. In the distance, half a dozen MacKenzie warriors crested the top of a gentle slope.

“They’ve not seen us,” Matthew said. He jerked his horse about.

“There’s no place to hide,” Alasdair shouted. “Our horses are spent. We cannot out run them.”

“They may not be loyal to Ranulf,” Fiona cried. “They could be allies.”