“He had two blades,” Keenan said (35 page)

“Look,” Serena said and pointed to the line of red coated men at the far end. They marched as a united front, perfect precision, row upon row. A flash of fear trembled down through Serena. “There are so many.”

Both women jumped as the volley of British gunfire popped in the distance, slicing through the first line of men.

“Nay!” Elenor yelled as a second volley exploded. Dust and gunfire smoke billowed up into the air. The deep boom of a cannon followed. Clumps of peat and men flew into the air where the cannon hit. Their mangled mass of broken bodies twisted in the smoke and mud.

Serena scanned the field. She caught a glimpse of the cockaded bonnet of the Bonnie Prince, retreating from the slaughter. In an instant their proud leader was gone, his leadership shot out from under him like his horse. She steeled herself against the onslaught of emotion. The Scottish fought with swords and scythes and axes, which did little against the British artillery.

Serena heard stones sliding down in front of her. “Elenor!” she yelled. Elenor scrambled down the hill and onto the moor. “Elenor, come back!”

Elenor looked back for a moment at Serena her face red and washed with tears. “He’s dying out there,” she said and ran out onto the moor.

Lachlan stood, blood on his hands as he grabbed his thigh. He’d been shot in the leg but wasn’t turning in retreat. He must have heard Elenor’s cry because he turned to watch her run to him. They were too far away for Serena to hear, but she could see Elenor pull Lachlan’s arm, trying to pull him from the field. The sound was deafening. Cannons boomed echoed by screams and thumps of debris and bodies. Guns popped continuously. The deep resonance of guttural war cries lay like deep water over the moor, flooding the hurt and dying, smothering, drowning.

Serena couldn’t breathe. Her
overlapping
hands pressed hard against her chest as she heard the calculated popping over another deadly round of gunfire. Lachlan must have heard it too because he threw Elenor to the bloody mud and covered her with his body.

“No!” Serena screamed. “Elenor! Lachlan!” Serena jumped up and down, her fingers curling and uncurling at her sides. She took a step toward the edge of the moor and looked around for something physical that she could use for a shield. There was nothing but rocks and trees. Rocks and trees...and Keenan!

Keenan burst through the tree line and pulled his horse up quick so as not to plunge down the hill. The horse reared back, its legs flailing high in front of him. He spotted Serena immediately and something tight uncoiled in his chest, something that allowed him to breathe again.

“Keenan!” she cried and he engulfed her with his arms, pulling her into his heaving chest, so close that his legs straddled around her.

His eyes lifted over her head and he stiffened. Serena pushed against his chest. “Keenan, Elenor, Lachlan…”

Serena’s words seemed to garble together as his mind, so intent on saving Serena now shifted to his clan. Her words hit him like a mace. “Lachlan just threw himself on Elenor! She ran out there to pull him off the field. He’s shot and…”

He must protect them. “Brodick, Gavin,” Keenan said as he grabbed his shield from his horse. “Guard her until I return.”

Keenan plunged down the hill, rocks and dirt scattering under his heels. He held his sword in his right hand, his shield in the other. Thomas and Ewan flanked him.

“Keenan,” he heard Serena call his name. She still feared he would die. Would she have him turn his back on his family, his clan? At the bottom he turned his eyes to her. She stood proud above him, the wind catching at her tangled curls. “Keenan,” she called. “Save them, save our family.”

Energy and intent billowed up into him. His muscles flexed as his legs leapt across the soggy moor toward his brother’s body. He and his two men crouched down under their shields as a barrage of gunfire rained down on them. Ewan grunted. Keenan looked to his left, his friend wiped a fresh swell of blood from his leg.

“Nothing,” the warrior said and the three leapt forward through the smoke, dodging British and Scottish artillery. They ran low to the ground, bent over as they hurdled fallen Highlanders and pools of fetid water tinged red with blood. Men shouted, grunted, screamed. Cannons boomed and shook the warped earth beneath Keenan’s boots. Smoke and the tang of blood burned inside his nose. War, full on dirty war, what he’d been trained for, what he’d practiced all his life. Keenan’s voice carried above the noise, out across the moor. “Lachlan! Elenor!”

“Keenan! Help!” Elenor’s frightened cry sent another surge of ruthless energy tearing through Keenan. Raw need gave him nearly inhuman strength as he lifted Lachlan as if his full grown brother weighed no more than a child. Blood seeped through Lachlan’s shirt near his shoulder and dripped from the wound in his leg.

Ewan took the unconscious Lachlan while Thomas took both shields.

Keenan hoisted Elenor against him, his arm under her knees, his shield draped over his back. He ran, his legs churning as if he climbed a steep incline, dodging bodies and sword blades, leaping over moats of water and ditches of mud and death. Elenor clung to him as if she were a wee lass, his dear sweet sister who had always stood strong in support of him, who’d showed him what love was when there wasn’t any to be found.

Keenan’s eyes focused on the lone woman standing tall ahead on the rise. Serena’s red hair tossed wildly around her shoulders with the wind, blazing like a flame in the noon sun. Her hands pressed out before her as if feeling along a wall, violet eyes closed, forehead furrowed. The guttural growls of warriors pierced by screams of agony and death beat as his back as he tore across the mottled land toward his wife, toward his love, toward life.

Half the hill came down under his heels as he stepped up the raw, cut hillside. Serena opened her eyes. “He watched you. He’s coming.”

His eyes washed over her, not understanding, but feeling the panic racing through her. “Who?”

“I…I threaded through them all to find their leader,” Serena said breathlessly, and Keenan realized that she hadn’t the full strength to stand. She leaned against Brodrick. Keenan set Elenor down as Thomas stepped up to take her weight. Keenan pulled Serena into his arms.

“The Duke of Cumberland,” she said and swallowed. “He’s close and he saw you run here.” She looked into Keenan’s eyes. “His mind…his heart is blackness.” She shook her head. “All he wants is death, Keenan. He’s consumed with it and he’s coming this way.”

“Ye read him?” Keenan asked, and felt Serena shudder with her nod.

Serena’s eyes glossed over with unshed tears. “Bloody, brutal slaughter. He wants all of Scotland dead…starting with you.”

Keenan wrapped her tightly against him and turned to scan out at the field. A contingent of horses moved across the moor. Their British riders sliced and chopped at the exhausted, underfed Scottish warriors. Cumberland rode in the middle of them, protected from most of the danger. Serena pulled away to check on Elenor and the
barely
breathing Lachlan.

“He will die,” Thomas said where they knelt near Lachlan. “Just like the prophecy said.”

Tears streamed down Elenor’s face. “He was defending me.” Elenor looked up at Keenan. “He was defending me and now he will die and ye will lead the clan, just like the prophecy said.”

The anguish in his sister’s words cut through Keenan. His words were firm like the rocks around them, like the mountains of their land. “The prophecy is dead. We follow no prophecy.” Serena fished out something from her pocket and placed it on Lachlan’s chest near the worst of his seeping wounds.

She looked up at Keenan. “Then let us really be rid of it.” She placed her hands over the wound and closed her eyes.
A labored breath rattled past Lachlan’s bloodied lips and then he lay still.

“Nay!” Elenor screamed and fell into Thomas’s arms. “Doona go, Lachlan!”

Serena continued to breath, eyes squeezed shut, lips pursed tight. “Not yet, Lachlan.”

“Aye,” Keenan murmured in the stillness. “Not yet, Brother.”

“Keenan,” Ewan said. “Cumberland.”

Keenan turned back to the field. Cumberland and his men were close enough for Keenan to make out Cumberland’s sneer. His beady black eyes searched him out. The man apparently blamed Keenan for his mistress’s confession before King George. Keenan had heard the man’s reputation had suffered from the incident.

“Surround them,” Keenan said with a glance at Lachlan, Elenor, and Serena. “Let nothing reach them.”

Keenan felt a hum in the ground beneath his feet, Serena’s magic was the source. Power pulled up through the ground into Lachlan. His body twitched. Let it be enough, Keenan prayed.

“Here the bastards come,” Ewan said, anticipation lacing his words as he bounced on his toes and rotated his sword.

Cumberland and his men left their horses at the bottom of the steep embankment and charged up, swords flashing, curses flying. British steel struck Highland iron as Cumberland’s soldiers attacked, trying to hack through the circle around Lachlan, Elenor and Serena. Keenan’s blade sang as he moved, his warrior’s blood ran free as the familiar dance moved his body with deadly grace. His mind focused on protecting what lay beyond him in the tight circle. His breathing followed the cadence of his heartbeat as the familiar movements clashed and defended over and over. The dance was over much too fast for Keenan’s taste, the powdered red coats scattered haphazardly across the ground. Now only Cumberland and his standard bearer stood. Cumberland brandished his sword, his narrow eyes hard and venomous.

“Strike at me and ye will join yer men,” Keenan said, his stance casual.

“You are a traitor, Maclean, and will die a traitor’s death.”

“I protect my clan, Cumberland. I stand for what is mine.”

“Against King George,” Cumberland said.

“I stand against no man save my enemy.”

“You support the Pretender Prince Charles.”

There was movement behind Keenan and Elenor gasped.

“I support Prince Charles Stuart,” Lachlan said. “Na’ Keenan.”

Keenan didn’t move his eyes from his adversary, but relief flooded him.

Lachlan’s voice was weak, but he was conscious, alive.
“Keenan has tried to convince me to place my loyalty elsewhere,” Lachlan said. “He is na’ loyal to the Prince.”

“Then stand down,” Cumberland spoke directly to Keenan, his eyes never wavering.

“He will strike when you…” Serena started.

“No doubt,” Keenan said more to Cumberland than to Serena. “I willna stand down until I ken my family is safe.”

“I know your family’s prophecy, Maclean. Are you frightened then, knowing you will die defending that family? Isn’t it your duty to come meet me here and die? You Highlanders are all about duty.”

“No prophecy rules my actions, Cumberland,” Keenan said, his voice lethal, calm. “If ye think I will die by yer blade, then come meet me.” Keenan took a step toward the duke and sliced his sword through the crisp air in a fluid figure eight. The duke’s eyes opened a hint larger. Keenan took another step closer to the hedging man. The standard bearer retreated several paces. “I doona fear death and I doona welcome it.” Keenan arched his sword in another fluid movement, the blade literally singing as the wind whistled by it. His eyes hardened, his body on the verge of elegant violence. “Death,” he said with menacing softness, “I defeat it.”

Keenan stood, his sword arm ready, waiting for the duke’s response. The sun caught his blade and Keenan angled it slightly so that the sun shone into the leader’s eyes. The duke squinted.

“Tread carefully, Maclean,” Cumberland said lowering his sword so as not to look threatening. He glanced at Lachlan somewhere behind Keenan. “And your brother is a traitor. The king will deal with him.” Cumberland backed slowly from the scene, arguing with the standard barer to leave the bodies of their soldiers.
Keenan lowered his sword and turned to find Lachlan hugging Elenor. He smiled and breathed deep.

“΄Tis good to see ye whole, Brother,” Keenan said as he knelt before Lachlan and grabbed his shoulders.

Lachlan looked between Serena and Keenan and grinned. “Aye, thanks to both of ye.” Elenor threw her arms around Lachlan again. “And ye, fair sister, are never permitted in battle again,” he rebuked, though he smiled through it.

Horns sounded. Runners from the Scottish commander, Lord Murray, rode through calling a retreat. The battle was over in little more than an hour.

Keenan stepped up to Serena.

“Death,” she said staring up into his eyes. “You have defeated it.”

Keenan touched her chin, rubbing the soft skin with his thumb. “Nay, lass. We have defeated it.” He dipped his head down to her warm lips. Serena wrapped her arms around his neck and tilted her head. She was warmth and soft woman and so much more. She was life. He pulled back.

“I love ye, lass. I will always battle to come home to ye.” Serena flung herself into Keenan’s arms, their kiss so deep that they didn’t even hear the low chuckles of the men behind them or the sweet chirping of a bluebird overhead.

Epilogue

Kylkern Castle loomed majestically ahead of them. Sheep roamed the hillside. Chiriklò twittered with two robins in budding trees that flanked the path. Serena and Keenan walked hand in hand after visiting several of the soldiers at their homes. Spring bloomed around them as the warm breeze cleansed the air and earth. It had been a fortnight since they returned and tales of the battle had followed.

Culloden had been a massacre. One thousand Highlanders had given their lives to only three hundred-sixty-four of Cumberland’s men. Thanks, though, to Keenan’s training and Serena’s magic, all the Macleans had been saved. Cumberland’s campaign to kill all Scots earned him the name The Butcher. He continued his killing rampage, murdering the injured and Scottish innocents in his way, for days after the battle. His savagery disgraced the British army and his own reputation.

“I’d have gutted the man if I’d known.” Kennan had murmured upon reading the report.

Rus jogged up and fell in line with them as they walked toward Kylkern.

“He’s gone.”

“I know. He bade us farewell at dawn,” Keenan said. A second chance at life, Lachlan had called it. Wanted to make his own adventures. No arguing would stop him.
Lachlan had left with several loyal young warriors to travel south to pay their respects to the Faw Tribe. From there Lachlan hoped to journey to Ireland or the Colonies, he wasn’t sure.

“Ye are the true chief, Keenan,” Lachlan had said. He’d smiled at Serena, then. “Lead yer people to peace.” A letter under royal seal had arrived the night before from George himself. Apparently the standard bearer had spoken up on Keenan’s behalf. Maclean lands would belong to the clan as long as Lachlan no longer led them.

Keenan laced his fingers through Serena’s, remaining silent. Serena still couldn’t read his thoughts but the tightness of unease filtered to her through their bond.

“Elenor is starting a tapestry to capture the battle with Lachlan at the head of the Maclean regiment,” Serena stated. Rus nodded.

Serena walked half-way through the small village beside Keenan and Rus before the eerie quiet caught at her busy mind. Windows stood empty, doors closed.

“Rus,” Keenan said firmly as they neared the gatehouse. “I need to talk with ye and Brodick. With Lachlan gone, we need new leadership.”

Rus nodded. “Aye, we have some things we’d like to discuss with ye, too,” he said, his voice stern. They strode through the deserted bailey. Only the gateman stood watch and waved. Up the steps, Rus reached the top and pushed open the arching oak doors, letting Serena and Keenan walk into the entry.

After the bright sun, the total blackness of the corridor blinded Serena. She smelled spring wildflowers, brought in by Elenor no doubt, and fresh baked bread for the afternoon meal. As the narrow corridor opened up into the great hall, Keenan stopped abruptly, halting Serena with him. She blinked twice, astonished. The entire room, from the winding tower steps to the space before the hearth, to the tops of the long tables, was filled with Clan Maclean, silently waiting. Women, children in their arms, stood next to their returned husbands. Mothers, fathers, old and young alike.

Brodick’s thick voice filled the air above the packed humanity before them. “Let it be known that on this day in the year of our Lord, seventeen hundred and forty-six, that Keenan Maclean of the Macleans of Kylkern is proclaimed The Maclean, Chief of the Macleans of Kylkern.” Without words, each man in the room slid his sword free, filling the room with the slicing sound of steel. All tips pointed upward to the stone ceiling.

Thomas stepped forward next to Brodick. “And let it be known that on this same day, we welcome Serena Maclean with our gratitude and hearts to walk beside our laird.”

Gavin stepped up next to Thomas. “So that they both shall lead Clan Maclean to peace.”

Rus jumped up on the bench near them. “So say I,” he yelled raising the tip of his sword even higher in the air.

“So say I,” Robert Mackay called from the back of the room.

“So say I,” yelled Ewan at the same time as two other men whom Serena had healed along the Inverness road leading from Culloden.

“So say I,” Elenor called out raising her clasped hands in the air where she stood close to William.

With that the hall exploded in an uneven chorus of shouts, three simple words that rippled through Serena. “So say I!”

In the deafening thunder of acceptance, Serena let Keenan pull her to the table. He lifted her up next to Brodick and jumped up himself. Looking down at her, Keenan smiled into Serena’s eyes. She nodded briefly, and he turned out to the throng of people.

The room hushed. Keenan’s sword slid free, and he raised it overhead. With his other hand, he grabbed Serena’s and raised up their clasped hands between them.

“So say I,” Keenan’s voice boomed through the room.

“So say I,” Serena followed as she smiled broadly at the sea of faces.

Again the room erupted, and Serena could no longer keep back the tears of happiness. Keenan lowered his arms, sheathed his sword, and pulled Serena into his embrace. He looked deeply into her teary eyes. “Welcome home, lass.” He paused and smiled. “I think if we start tomorrow, there will still be time for yer vegetable garden.”

Serena laughed and leaned into him. Their kiss, full of hope, full of love, consumed them as the celebration continued.