“He had two blades,” Keenan said (30 page)

“Ye doona ken the prince. I do. He is a grand speaker, a grand talker of dreams and glorious victories. He can rally a group and boil their blood against any army. But nay, Lachlan, he canna outmaneuver Cumberland and his nine thousand soldiers.”

Lachlan didn’t look at all convinced. “But we have the advantage of prophecy, Keenan. We ken that we will come out of this in peace.” Lachlan glanced back at Serena. “Ye are the witch of our prophecy, Serena, ye ken that. Ye herald the tide of peace for the Macleans at Kylkern.”

Serena felt her heart beat hard in her chest. “So I’ve been told, Laird Maclean.”

He laughed. “Laird Maclean? Ye have no need to bow to formalities here, Milady. As ye will be part of this family before long. In fact, here before everyone,” he began, raising his voice so that the handful of men in the room all could hear.

“Nay, Brother,” Keenan said low, but Lachlan talked over him.

Serena spotted Elenor as she rounded the corner into the great hall. Serena kept her eyes locked on Keenan’s sister, as if she were a floating branch to hold onto in a rapid river.

“Before God and my family and friends, I make it official and ask Lady Serena to wed with me.” Lachlan bowed low and moved to his knee before her. Serena couldn’t pull in a full breath. She had to look down at him and away from Elenor. “Send me to war with yer kiss and yer vow. Lead this clan to victory against England.”

Time seemed to slow down as Serena stared at Lachlan bent down before her. She had no idea what to say. For a moment she felt like she sat outside of herself watching the horror unfold, wondering what would happen next, what she would say next. Serena wished she could see ahead so she would know what words to force now out of her frozen lips. If it were but a play, and she could see her next line. What would it be?

She must have paused too long for she heard Keenan start to say something, but she couldn’t let him stand alone before his brother, before his clan. If she let him answer for her it would seem that he manipulated all the events in his favor. No, she had to say something.

Serena held up her hand to Keenan to stop him as her words came forth, loud in the absolute silence of the hall. “Laird Lachlan Maclean, you do me great honor with your request.” Serena glanced at the other occupants of the room. The four Macleans who had journeyed with them stood, their legs braced apart, arms crossed. Elenor stood unmoving by the stair with William who had descended. Five or six other Maclean warriors, including Rus, had come inside. They all seemed to hold their breaths, waiting on her words. As if those words would decide the fate of their clan. Serena swallowed and looked back down to Lachlan.

“Please rise, Milord.” Lachlan stood and she began again. “It is a great honor you bestow upon me, but I cannot accept.”

Lachlan frowned slightly at her as if humoring her. “On what grounds, Milady?”

“On the grounds that I cannot marry where I do not love.”

Lachlan smiled. “How young and fresh,” he said. “Do not fear that, Serena. Love can grow once we are wed. Ye can consider it for the night. It is a good match.”

For a brief moment, escape lurked in Serena’s mind. She could lie. She could say that she would consider and stop this terrible scene. She could meet with him later, send him a message. Have Keenan talk to him without the eyes of his clan stripping them for all to see.

Serena sighed inside as the weak plan dissolved into an ache at the back of her head. She couldn’t retreat, lie out of cowardice. For no matter how she justified the lie, it would still be said out of fear. Serena shook her head. “I cannot love you,” she whispered, and then stopped. She wouldn’t confess her love for Keenan quietly, she would proclaim it. Serena took a deep breath. “I cannot love you because I love another, I have wed another.”

Several shocked grunts came from across the room, but she ignored them. Elenor’s feminine gasp came from the stairs.

“But,” Lachlan’s voice shook on the word before he forced enough breath to make the words strong again. “But ye are the witch, the one to bring us to peace. Ye cannot have wed another.”

Keenan stepped up next to Serena and took her hand in his. He squeezed it gently, but continued to stare at his brother.

“Serena and I were married six days ago at the Faw Romany camp near Leicester.”

“Ye married her?” the question hissed from Lachlan, as much an accusation as it was a question.

Thomas stepped forward with the other three warriors. “He had na’ choice. They were going to marry her to a Romany man from another tribe.”

Gavin spoke as Thomas paused. “Keenan had to marry her else she would not have returned with us.”

Ewan jumped in. “Nothing in the prophecy says that she needs to be a maid. Once Keenan dies, ye can marry her.”

“Enough!” Keenan’s voice bellowed over Serena’s fierce denial, smothering it. “Enough,” he said again.

Lachlan stared at Keenan, his face made of stone. “If ye married her to bring her to me, let us find a man of the kirk to annul the vows, Brother.” His words were soft but firm. “Do yer duty, Keenan, and give her to me.” Desperation lurked behind his words.

Serena’s shock turned to internal fury. He spoke of her as if she were property, an object to be used, taken and given. A cloak of protection and nothing more.

Emotion fled Keenan’s face as he stared into Lachlan’s eyes. Calm, incredible calm, almost bored. Serena only felt the slight clenching of the fist that wrapped around her hand.

“I did more than wed her, Lachlan, I bound her to me in handfasting. I claimed her with my body.” The slight edge of challenge sharpened his words, deadly calm challenge. “She is mine.” Keenan used his grasp on Serena’s hand to tug her to the side, slightly behind him, as if he used his body as her shield.

A long pause ensued as each brother weighed the other. No one moved. Serena’s heart beat so hard that it hurt with the weight of the air in the room. The ache at the base of her skull throbbed.

Lachlan’s words were low. “Then ye have killed me, Brother,” he flung the last word as if it were a curse.

“Prophecies are often misinterpreted, I have been told,” Keenan said. His words remained low.

In a burst that made Serena jump, Lachlan whirled around and strode to the hearth. He took a goblet of wine from the mantel and slammed it into the flames. Wine sputtered within the fire, hissing, dissolving quickly in the heat.

The outburst moved each warrior’s hand to their hilts. Brodick, Gavin, Thomas and Ewan formed a close circle around her, guarding her and Keenan’s back. Would civil war break out in this hall, a war between brothers over her? She couldn’t let it happen.

“No,” she yelled out and pushed past Keenan toward Lachlan. “He has not killed you, Lachlan. The love that grew between Keenan and me, it was meant to be. Our bond formed on its own, not to spite you, and definitely not to harm you in any way. Your prophecy…”

“Ye ken naught of our prophecy, Witch!” Lachlan roared. Serena heard steel slide free behind her.

She continued, undaunted, her heart pounding with her need to end this. “I know you don’t want to die, none of us do, but we all do eventually. No prophecy will cause it as none can prevent it.” Lachlan stared at her with a mixture of fury and condemnation. What could she do to stop this? What could she use to squelch the smoldering emotions of betrayal and resentment?

“Use me,” she said to Lachlan. “Use my powers to avoid death, death for both of you.”

“Serena,” Keenan said, but she continued.

“No Keenan, even married to you, I can still read the minds of enemies. I can see probable outcomes. If you two but listen to me, you can both live long lives.”

“And continue to hide,” Lachlan said, the edge dulled from his voice. He shook his head, and looked past Serena to Keenan. “I am through hiding. I have lived more in these last three days than I have my whole life.” He glanced back at her. “I willna hide behind yer skirts.” He scoffed. “Let my brother hide behind them.”

“I doona hide, Lachlan, I never have. I only warn ye of a disaster ye are about to walk into.”

“I am going to Culloden, with or without ye,” Lachlan said with a wave of dismissal. Keenan walked close to him.

“Serena is seeing things with her magic,” he lowered his voice so it wouldn’t carry. “She’s seeing the slaughter of our men. If ye lead them to Culloden, ye lead them to death, Lachlan.”

Lachlan turned toward Serena. In two steps he was before her. Lachlan grabbed her head in his two large hands, one on either side of her face. She gasped at the contact as it crashed through her defenses.

She saw Lachlan’s eyes bulging, his lips pulled back in a snarl. But more than the sight of his face, she saw his emotions. His anger, the pain of betrayal, resentment that he’d wasted thirty-seven years not living. “Then see me, Serena Maclean,” he spat. “See my future, tell me of my death, a death brought on by ye and my brother.”

His face blurred before her, changing. Lachlan’s face turned gray, gun smoke char smeared cross his brow. Red spread out from his tunic along his chest. The aroma of death filled Serena’s nose, and slaked against her tongue as if she had licked him.

The scream rose up out of her like a frightened bird taking flight, as if she could escape upon it. Lachlan was ripped from her as angry Gaelic curses bellowed up. Serena’s gaze wobbled, and then steadied as she tried to center on the moving room. The men shouted and some shoved. Serena watched Elenor run to her, William behind her.

“Serena, come with me. Away from this,” Elenor’s soft voice beckoned. Serena tried to focus on her words. She nodded dumbly without looking behind. She took Elenor’s outstretched hands and looked down at them. Red, warm blood covered Elenor’s hands. So hot, so slippery.

Serena’s breath huffed from her like she’d been punched in the stomach. The throbbing at the base of her skull pounded into her as if she were being pummeled from behind. “Elenor, blood, on your hands, so much blood.”

“Serena, whose blood?”

“I don’t know, but there’s so much.” Elenor’s concerned face swam before her.

“Àngelas!” Serena heard William call her from what seemed far away.

The throbbing rose, pounding in time with her aching heart, with each rapid intake of breath. The floor gave way beneath her, and Serena knew she was falling. Falling into blessed darkness, away from the madness. Would he catch her? Before the question could solidify into fear, Serena felt a net of strength envelope her. No thoughts, no anger, no bloody premonitions, just blessed peace wrapped around her limp body. Keenan had caught her. She could let go.

It wasn’t until later, when she felt a large, warm body next to her that she was able to stay afloat. Serena flicked her eyes open, blinking at the piercing glow of the hearth fire. She rolled to her side until her face pressed against a bare, warm chest. With one indrawn breath of pine and leather and musky man, Serena knew it was Keenan. She sighed into his skin. Safety, love, happiness, acceptance. All that she so wanted in life. She wiggled closer.

“Mmmm, ye feel good, lass,” Keenan’s words rumbled up from the very spot she lay her cheek. He sat up on an elbow and rolled her flat so he could peer down into her face, searching. Deep lines marked his forehead. “Serena,” he touched her forehead at the hairline, tenderly running his fingers across her temple and down along the bone of her jaw. “How do ye feel?”

She smiled gently. “A kiss would help.”

He looked confused for a brief moment before a grin grew, easing away the lines of worry. Keenan bowed his head and kissed her as if she were a delicate flower he could crush. Even though she still could not read Keenan’s thoughts or feelings, he left an impression on her heart. A sadness lay below his tenderness. He pulled back way too soon.

Without opening her eyes Serena said, “nice, but I’d like more.” She heard him chuckle, at odds with the impression. She should ask about it, ask what had happened below, but she didn’t want to, not yet. Serena felt him roll from the bed, and her eyes snapped open. She pushed her heavy body up onto an elbow. Keenan walked over to add more peat to the fire. He wore a Maclean plaid draped low over his hips, and she watched the shadows play across the muscles of his bare back.

Her hand moved under her hair to massage the nape of her neck. The pounding had relented but it still felt tender.

She should ask. He must be expecting it.

“Is it the middle of the night?” she asked glancing toward the covered windows. No light peeked through.

“Aye, near midnight. Ye slept through supper,” he said and picked up a bowl to bring over to her.

So they had actually eaten. Perhaps the clash of bitter betrayal and resentment had settled down after she had swooned. She really should ask, but then Keenan turned back and her eyes watched the teasing lines of his chest. He sat back down, his hands pushing her hair from her face.

“Really lass, ye are well?”

She nodded as best she could with his two large hands incasing her head.

“Ye screamed downstairs and fainted.”

She nodded again. “The images, the smells, they broke through my defense,” she hesitated, “when Lachlan touched me.” Keenan released her face, his one hand fisting as he planted it on the bed next to them.

“He willna touch ye again, Serena. We,” he paused, “discussed it, and he willna harm ye in any way again.”