The Highlander's Vow (Loch Moigh #4) (24 page)

“Three against one,” Sky boasted on his behalf. “’Twas quite a feat. Struan managed to dispatch two guards and Oliver quickly enough for us to escape.”

Her eyes shone with pride—and was that love he glimpsed in those hazel depths as they met his? He could only hope. Warmth surged through him, and with it, a fierce wave of possessiveness. She was his, and if he had any say in the matter, she would remain his. All he had to do was convince her to return to the future with him.

“I owe a great deal to Connor. He’s an excellent trainer,” Struan said. “I’ve never met a better swordsman.”

“Nor have I.” Rob looked from Sky to him and back again. “Humph. I’ll travel with the two of you to Moigh Hall. Will, I’ll leave you in command here. Keep the gates closed, and warn the villagers to scatter into the hills or to come within the walls of the keep should we catch even a glimpse of an Erskine. We’ll take a score of my garrison with us, and I’ll send word to a few of our allies yet this day.”

“I’ve already dispatched missives to Stirling, DúnConnell and Sutherland. Word should have already reached our king and allies by now.”

“Och, you’re a braw canny lass and a credit to your clan.” Rob beamed. “Your father would have alerted our neighbors to the south at any sign of trouble. Cousin Murray will send what men he can spare. The Erskines dinna stand a chance against us, and Lord Robert is a fool.”

How likely was it that one of his da’s direct descendants would travel to Moigh Hall? Struan’s jaw clenched, and the taunts he’d suffered as a lad came back to him in a chokehold of misery. He glanced at Sky to find her studying him. Of course she’d sense his turmoil.

Would revealing his origins dim the light shining in her lovely eyes whenever she looked his way? He had hopes and dreams for his future, and they included having Sky by his side. He had no idea whether fate conspired with or against him. Helplessness to control the outcome or to alter the course of his life banded his chest and the familiar anger burned bright.

He lifted his goblet and took a long draught, feeling once again as if fate were hemming him in and pushing him toward a ledge he wished to avoid.

“Tell us about Halidon Hill, Sir Struan,” Will begged. “I’ve heard the tales and read about it, but
you
were there.”

“Aye,” Robley added. “I’d very much like to hear the tale as well.”

“If it pleases you,” Sky said, rising from her place, “I’d like to wash off the dust from our travels. Would Erin mind if I borrowed something clean to wear?”

“Nay, help yourself, lass.” Rob glanced at her. “Have our servants see to cleaning your garments whilst you’re here, and they’ll be ready for you before we depart on the morrow.” He turned to Struan. “We’re close enough in size, lad. I’ll lend you something to wear so your clothing can be tended as well. In fact, let us take care of that anon.” He rose. “What say you to a bit of swordplay before supper? Will and I would be glad to witness your skill for ourselves, and we can save the storytelling for later this eve whilst we sup.”

Struan sighed. He was tired and not in the mood to show off, but he understood he was being tested. Robley had caught the heated look he’d shared with Sky, not to mention the way she sang his praises. Perhaps he was being given a chance to prove himself and to gain an ally. If so, he couldn’t afford to pass it up.

After all, Robley had married a woman from the future, a lass with no land or political connections. Hopefully, the man would sympathize with Struan’s plight. Too bad Sky wasn’t Robley’s daughter. Somehow he doubted Robley would have much sway with the earl of Fife when it came to Sky’s future with the bastard son of the fourth earl of Sutherland. Struan stood up and stretched. “If you wish.”

Robley opened the solar door. “Let’s find something suitable for you to wear before heading for the lists, and I’ll arrange for a bath to be readied in your chamber.”

“My thanks. If you don’t mind, I’d like to fight you both at once. It’s been a long few days, and I don’t wish to expend too much more energy today.”

“By God, you are a Sutherland through and through, and every bit as cocky.” Robley laughed, cast him an incredulous look and laughed again. Will, on the other hand, kept his mouth shut and his eyes wide. “We shall see, lad. Dinna count on victory just yet.”

Aye, it would be good to form alliances, make a name for himself with Sky’s kin. The earl of Fife would then be much less inclined to remove Struan’s head from his shoulders should he learn Struan had stolen his eldest daughter’s virtue. Though to be fair, she’d seduced him, not the other way around—not that he wouldn’t have gotten to the seduction part himself if given enough time.

Struan, Sky and the MacKintosh traveling with them had left their horses with a crofter half a league back and made their way through thick forest to a hill overlooking Loch Moigh. Struan lay flat on his belly and peered down at the village nestled beside the loch. Their worst fears had been realized. The village and the shores teemed with Erskines armed to the hilt. “Bloody hell, Lord Robert has a cannon.”

“Humph.” Robley peered down at the enemy now occupying the village. “’Tis unlikely to do him any good. Our island stronghold is out of range.” He glanced at Struan. “Is it no’?”

“Hmm.” He studied the island. “The keep is set far enough back. Maybe they’ll manage to destroy a few of the fishing boats lining the shore, perhaps the outer curtain wall will suffer some damage, but the keep?” He shook his head. “Doubtful.”

“Aye, and if we’re lucky, the damn thing will explode in their faces. I’ve heard tell cannons are most unreliable.” Robley put his hand on Struan’s shoulder. “Come, let us continue on before it becomes too dark to find the boats. I dinna wish to spend the night in the forest. ’Twould be best not to be discovered by Lord Robert’s scouts. Besides, even if we aren’t discovered, we’d have to wait another day to make our way to the island.”

He and Robley retreated to where the rest of their party waited, hidden in the shadows of the trees. Rob issued a silent order, and the guards formed a line with Sky safely ensconced at the midpoint. They crept along, careful not to make any noise that might alert enemy spies. By the time they reached the south shore and uncovered the boats hidden under the brush, the sun had sunk to the horizon.

“Clouds,” Sky whispered, pointing to the north. Heavy, dark clouds were moving their way. “We’ll have good cover, more if it rains.”

“Aye,” Robley agreed. “Sit. Eat something. As soon as darkness falls, we’ll be off.”

By the time the sun had disappeared, it was raining hard. Rob, Struan and Sky piled into the first boat, along with three of the MacKintosh guards. The rest of the men divided themselves amongst the remaining three, and they all shoved off from shore and headed for the island, keeping the darker outline of the castle in their sights to guide them. The way was slow, and they were careful not to make noise when slicing the oars through the water. For safety’s sake, they kept a fair distance between each of the skiffs.

Sky’s teeth were chattering by the time they landed, but there was nothing Struan could do. He had nothing to offer to shield her from the deluge. He helped her out of the boat and made sure she stood on firm ground before turning back to help drag the skiffs on shore.

“Come,” Robley beckoned, “to the postern gate.” He led them single file to an iron gate behind the castle. There, he called out to the guards manning the parapet, and the passageway was opened quickly.

“Welcome, Lord Robley.” The guard bowed as they filed through into the outer ward. “Och, Lady Sky! ’Tis grand to have ye back, Lady Sky.”

“’Tis good to be back, George,” she said as she slipped through.

“Bad business afoot with the Erskines, aye? Best hie yourselves to the great hall anon. The lords are gathered within.” George waited until the last man was through, and then the gate clanged closed behind them and the lock clicked into place.

The lords were gathered? What was he about to face once they entered Moigh Hall? Struan followed Sky along a narrow path leading past what must be the kitchen gardens. They stopped at a door at the rear of the keep. Robley sent his guards to the lower level to find a hot meal and a dry place to rest before ushering Struan and Sky past the kitchen and into the great hall.

A fire burned in the huge hearth nearest a long trestle table, and five men stood with bent heads, studying a map laid out before them. He recognized Connor immediately, and relief surged through him.

“Da!” Sky cried out.

A large man, broad-shouldered and fit, his hair streaked with silver, raised his head and let out a cry. He strode across the hall and had his daughter in a bear hug in an instant. “Och, my wee lass. We feared we’d ne’er lay eyes upon ye again.”

Two younger men joined them, forming a huddle around her, shutting Struan out. They must be her twin brothers. What had she said their names were?

“Connor McGladrey!” Robley shouted. “’Tis good to see you again, my friend, and you as well, Dylan. How is it you’re here, cousin?”

Connor and Robley embraced, slapping each other’s backs vigorously, and then Rob did the same with the man he’d called Dylan . . . the man whose resemblance to Struan’s da was so strong, it was like looking at his sire’s ghost. Struan remained an outsider to yet another joyous reunion between Sky and her kin. His heart hammering inside his chest, his clothing dripping onto the rushes beneath his feet, he watched as tears of joy streamed down Sky’s face.

He couldn’t compete—not with this.

“Owain, lad,” the earl rasped out, his own tears plain to see. “Fetch your ma.” His eyes lit on Struan. He straightened, keeping Sky tucked against his side. “You must be Sir Struan. I’m the earl of Fife and laird to clan MacKintosh. Connor has had much to say about you, lad. We owe you a great debt of gratitude. You’ve protected Sky since the hour she entered your era, and now you’ve managed to see her safely home.” His voice broke at that last part.

A strangled laugh burst out of Struan before he could contain it. “I’m also the reason you have Erskines squatting in your village right now, with a cannon aimed at your island.” He tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone ash dry.

“Aye, and they’re demanding we turn you over, since ’twas you who slayed the earl’s heir.” Malcolm clapped Struan’s back a few times. “Dinna worry, lad. Connor also told us of the Erskines’ plot. You’re safe with us.”

Struan nodded, too relieved to speak.

“By the saints,” Dylan said, coming to stand beside the earl. “Connor did no’ lie. You and I . . . ’tis bloody uncanny. Who
are you to the Sutherlands? He also told us you fought at Halidon Hill against the English. My great-grandsire died at that battle. Did you fight under his command? Did you ken the earl of Sutherland? His given name was—”

“Kenneth Alexander.” Struan raked his fingers through his dripping hair. “Aye, I kent him well enough. I fought by his side.” A lump rose in his throat. “Your great-grandsire died in my arms.”

Surveying the curious gazes riveted on him, he risked a glance at Sky. She’d been so honest and brave. Since the day she’d landed in the dirt in front of him, she’d been nothing but forthright, sharing things about herself she believed would put her at risk. And how had he repaid her? Time to come clean. He owed her his honesty. “The fourth earl of Sutherland was my sire.”

“Why . . . that makes you my uncle. But . . .” Dylan’s brow furrowed. “I dinna recall any mention of a Struan in our patents or in the family Bible. Were you kent by another name mayhap?”

“You won’t find me on any of your
official
records.” Struan shook his head. “I’m the earl’s bastard.”

Sky moved away from her sire, her eyes filled with hurt and betrayal. “Struan—”

“Sky Elizabeth,” a woman called from the top of the stairs. “Oh, my dearest . . .” A petite woman hurried down the steps. Her hair was a darker shade of the same chestnut as Sky’s, only with silver streaking her temples. No doubt this was Sky’s mother, Lady True. The two were the same in height and build. Two younger women followed, their joyful squeals piercing his poor ears.

“Ma, Helen, Sarah!” Sky ran to meet them.

Once again the woman he loved was surrounded by her kin in a huddle of happiness—a huddle that excluded him.

Connor came to stand by Struan’s side. He clasped Struan’s shoulder for an instant. “I’m sorry. Katherine and I ended up at DúnConnell, and that left you alone to defend your lady. We did what we could by gathering forces and informing Hunter and the Sutherlands of what Sky had learned before she came to our century.” He swept the hall with his gaze. “We all thought it prudent to prepare for the worst, whilst praying you and Sky would somehow make it to Moigh Hall.” He squeezed Struan’s shoulder. “You did well, Struan.”

“Thanks.” Struan couldn’t tear his eyes from Sky. If only he were an accepted and welcome part of the reunion. More than anything, he longed to take her into his arms, hear her assurances his origins meant nothing to her. Ah, but he’d seen the hurt and betrayal in her eyes.

His jaw tightened. The earl was not likely to allow him to get close enough to Sky to have a meaningful conversation with her. He might not get the chance to beg for her forgiveness.