Lord God, MacNiall thought, almost wearily. By now their enemies should have learned that the death and destruction of human beings, flesh and blood, was terrible.
Now? said MacLeod again, shouting this time to be heard over the roar from below.
Now, MacNiall said calmly.
Another signal was given, and a hail of arrows arched over hill and dale, falling with a fury upon the mass of regrouping humanity below.
And now! roared MacNiall, standing in his stirrups, commanding his men.
The men, flanking those few in view, rose from behind the rocks of their blessed Highlands. They let out their fierce battle crieslearned, perhaps, from the berserker Norsemen who had once come upon themand moved down from rock and cliff, terrible in their insanity, men who had far too often fought with nothing but their bare hands and wits to keep what was theirs, to earn the freedom that was a way of life.
Clansmen. They were born with an ethic; they fought for one another as they fought for themselves. They were a breed apart.
MacNiall was a part of that breed. As such, he must always ride with his men, and face the blades of his enemy first. He must, like his fellows, cry out his rage at this intrusion, and risk life, blood and limb in the hand-to-hand fight.
Riding down the hillside, he charged the enemy from the seat of his mount, hacking at those who slashed into the backs of his foot soldiers, and fending off those who would come upon him en masse. He fought, all but blindly at times, years of bloodshed having given him instincts that warned him when a blade or an ax was at his back. And when he was pulled from his mount, he fought on foot until he regained his saddle and crushed forward again.
In the end, it was a rout. Many of Cromwells great troops simply ran to the Lowlands, where the people were as varied in their beliefs as they were in their backgrounds. Others did not lay down their arms quickly enough, and were swept beneath the storm of cries and rage of MacNialls Highlanders. The stream ran red. Dead men littered the beauty of the landscape.
When it was over, MacNiall received the hails of his men, and rode to the base of the hill where they had collected the remnants of the remaining army. There he was surprised to see that among the captured, his men had taken Grayson Davisthe man who had betrayed them,
one of Cromwells greatest leaders, sworn to break the back of the wild Highland resistance. Grayson Davis, who hailed from the village that bordered MacNialls own, had seen the fall of the monarchy and traded in his loyalty and ethics for the riches that might be acquired from the deaths of other men.
The man was wounded. Blood had all but completely darkened the glitter of the chest armor he wore. His face was streaked with grimy sweat.
MacNiall! Call off your dogs! Davis roared to him.
He loses his head! roared Angus, the head of the Moray clan fighting there that day.
Aye, well, and he should be executed as a traitor, as the lot of us would be, MacNiall said without rancor. They all knew their punishment if they were taken alive. Still, for now he will be our captive, and we will try him in a court of his peers.
What court of jesters would that be? You should bargain with Lord Cromwell, use my life and perhaps save our own, for one day you will be slain or caught! Davis told him furiously. And yet, no matter his brave words, there was fear in his eyes. There must be, for he stood in the midst of such hatred that the most courageous of men would falter.
If youre found guilty, well but take your head, Davis, MacNiall said. We find no pleasure in the torture your kind would inflict upon us.
Davis let out a sound of disgust. It was true, on both sides, the things done by man to his fellow man were surely horrendous in the eyes of Godany god.
There will be a trial. All men must answer to their choices, MacNiall said, and his words were actually sorrowful. Take him, he told Angus quietly.
Davis wrenched free from the hold of his captors and turned on MacNiall. The great Laird MacNiall, creating havoc and travesty in the name of a misbegotten king! All hail the man on the battlefield! Yet what man rules in the great MacNialls bedchamber? Did you think that you could leave your home to take to the hills, and that the woman you left behind would not consider the fact that one day you will fall? Aye, MacNiall, all men must deal with their choices! And yours has made you a cuckold!
A sickness gripped him, hard, in the pit of his stomach. A blow, like none that could be delivered by a sword or bullet or battle-ax. He started to move his horse forward.
Grayson Davis began to laugh. Ah, there, the great man! The terror of the Highlands. The Bloody MacNiall! She wasnt a victim of rape, MacNiall. Just of my sword. A different sword.
Grayson Daviss laughter became silent as Angus brought the end of a poleax swinging hard against his head. The man fell flat, not deadfor he would stand trialbut certainly when he woke his head would be splitting.
Angus looked up at MacNiall.
Hes a liar, Angus said. A bloody liar! Yer wife loves ye, man. No lass is more honored among us. None more lovely. Or loyal.
MacNiall nodded, giving away none of the emotion that tore through him so savagely. For there were but two passions in his lifehis love for king and country and for his wife. Lithe, golden, beautiful, sensual, brave,
eyes like the sea, the sky, ever direct upon his own, filled with laughter, excitement, gravity and love. Annalise.
Annalise who had begged him to set down his arms. To rectify his war with Cromwell. Who had warned him that there could be but a very tragic ending to it all.
1
Imagine, if you will, the great laird of the castle! The MacNiall himself, famed and infamous, a figure to draw both fear and awe. Ahead of his time, he stood nearly six foot three, hair as black as pitch, eyes the silver gray of steel, capable of glinting like the devils own. Some say those orbs burned with the very fires of hell. His arms were knotted with muscle from the wielding of his sword, his ax, whatever weapon fell his way in the midst of battle. It was said that he could take down a dozen men in the opening moments of a fray. Passionate for king and country, he would fight any man who spoke to wrong either. Passionate in love, his anger could rage just as deeply against a woman, if he felt himself betrayed.
Imagine, then, being his beloved, his bride, his wife, burdened with the most treacherous of advisors, men determined to find a way to bring down a man so great in battle, to further their own aims. Imagine her knowing that she had been betrayed, maligned, and that her laird husband was returning from the blood of the battlefield intent upon a greater revenge. There there! He would come to the great doors that gave entry to the hall.
Toni stood at the railing of the second-floor balcony, pointing to the massive double doors, high on sheer exhilaration. A crowd of awed tourists were gathered below her in the great hall entry, staring up at her.
This was really too good, far more than they had imagined they could accomplish when she and the others had set their wild dream about procuring a run-down castle and creating a very special entertainment complex out of it. So far, David and Kevin had rallied their crowd magnificently by playing a pair of hapless minstrels in the reign of James IV, when the current structure had been built upon the Norman bastion begun by thirteenth-century kings. Ryan and Gina had done a fantastic job playing the daughter of the laird and the stable boy with whom she had fallen tragically in love during the reign of Mary, Queen of Scots. Thayerthe wild card in their sextethad proved himself more than capable of portraying a laird accused of witchcraft in the time of James VI. And they had all run around as kitchen wenches or servants for one another.
Beyond a doubt, the crowd was into the show. Below, they waited. So Toni continued.
Alas, it was right here, as I stand now, where, tragically, Annalise met with her husband, that great man of inestimable prowess and, unfortunately, jealousy and rage. Believing the stories regarding his beautiful wife, he curled his fingers around her throat, squeezing the life from her before tossing her callously down the staircase in a fit of uncontrollable wrath. Since he was the great laird of the castle, his servants helped him dispose of the body, and Laird MacNiall went on to fight another day. He was, however, to receive his own just rewards. Though he had bested many, and countless troops had been slaughtered beneath his leadership, Cromwell was to seize the man at last. He received the ultimate punishment: being castrated, disemboweled, decapitated, dismembered and dispersed. His pieces were then gathered by his descendants, and he now lies buried deep within the crypt of these very stone walls! Ah, yes, his mortal remains are buried here. But its said that his soul wanders, not just around the castle itself, but through the surrounding hills and braes, and he is known to haunt the forest just beyond the ruins of the old town wall.
Her words were met with a collective Ooh! that was most encouraging. Toni flashed a smile to Gina, hovering in a room off the second-floor landing, watching. Any minute now, Ryan would come riding into the main hall.
They say he roams his lands still, hunting for his wife, anxious to see her face, filled with love and lust and a fury seizes him each time he would hold her in all her spectral beauty!
She glanced at Gina, frowning. Ryan should have made his appearance by now.
Gina looked at her and shrugged, then lifted her hands, indicating that Toni should finish up, however she could manage.
That night the great laird of the castle came bursting through his doorway!
As if on cue, a fantastic flash of lightning suddenly tore through the darkness, followed by a massive roar of thunder.
The doors burst open and a man appeared. Toni inhaled on a sharp breath of disbelief. It wasnt Ryan. The man was on the biggest black stallion Toni had ever seen. She thought that the prancing animal might breathe fire at any instant.
And the rider He was damp from the rain, but his hair appeared to be as black as pitch. And though he was atop the giant horse, he appeared massive himself. If his eyes had glowed like the devils just then, she didnt think that she could have been any more surprised. He was the great Laird Bruce MacNiall, the warrior in mantle and kilt, just as she had described him.
Again lightning flashed and thunder rolled and roared.
Toni let out a startled scream, and a collective squawking rose from the audience.
Perfect! Toni thought. It was time to announce that the laird had come home, in all his gloryand wrath. But for once in her life, words failed her. Like the others, she was mesmerized, watching, afraid to breathe, thinking she must have conjured a ghost.
He dismounted from the stallion with such ease that anyone there with a question would still be in the dark as to what a Scotsman wore beneath his kilt. He looked around the great hall with dark, narrowed eyes and a jaw of concrete.
Who is running this charade? he demanded harshly.
The spellbound crowd still seemed to believe it was all part of an act.
David, down with the crowd, jumped to life. The lady at the top of the stairs! he informed the stranger, pointing up to Toni. Then he did his best to vacate the place as quickly as possible. And there we are, at the end of the show. Ladies, gentlemen, thank you for your attention! he said.
The crowd burst into applause, staring at the newcomer as they did so.
The strangers scowl deepened.
Thank you again, David said. And now lets adjourn into the kitchen, where well have the promised tea and scones!
As Toni watched the crowd disappear, she heard Gina whispering frantically to her. What is it? What the hell ? She stepped from the bedroom, moving out on the landing. Is it Ryan? What on earth has he done now?
Its not Ryan, Toni murmured beneath her breath. Kevin had followed David and the crowd into the kitchen, but not before looking up the stairs and glaring at her, lifting his hands in a what the hell ? motion himself. Thayer must have gone out to help Ryan, since it appeared that Toni and Gina were alone with the irate stranger, who was now slowly striding his way up the stairs.
Oh, God! Gina breathed. You said you made him up!
I did!
Then who or what is walking up the stairs? Never mindI can tell you. Its one very angry man.
He was angry? Suddenly Toni, who had been so stunned and awed herself, was angry, as well. Who the hell was he, charging in on them? They had a lease option on the castle, and whatever he might be, Great Britain had laws, and he surely had no right here.
Hello, she said, determinedly putting ice and strength into her voice. Can I help you?
Can you help me? Aye, that you can! he snapped. Now that he was close, she could see that his eyes were gray, a dark stormy gray, right now. Who in the hell are you people and what in Gods name do you think youre doing here? If his eyes were a storm, his voice was the thunder that cracked through it. He was a Scotsman, definitelyit was clear from the burr of his wordsbut his clean, crisp enunciation suggested that he had traveled, as well, and spent a great deal of time in other places.
Who are we? she said, frowning. Who are you?
Bruce MacNiall, owner of this castle.
The MacNialls are all dead, she told him.
Since I am a MacNiall, I beg to differ.
Behind her, Gina groaned. Oh, Lord! It sounds as if theres been some terrible mistake.
Theres been no mistake, Toni said softly to Gina. There cant be! To the stranger who had arrived in perfect theatrical form, she said, We have a rental agreement, a lease-purchase agreement, as a matter of fact.
Whatever you have is not legal, he said crisply.
We honestly believe that it is. Gina stepped forward, smiling ruefully and trying the polite approach. Gina was petite, with a wealth of lustrous brown hair, and green eyes that surveyed the world with intelligence and an easy courtesy. Her forte was public relations. This, she continued politely, is Antoinette Fraser. Toni. Im Gina Browne. Honestly, sir, weve gone through all the right steps and paid a handsome sum for the right to be here. Were registered and have a license as tour guides. I cant begin to imagine why youve suddenly burst in here tonight. The people in the village, including the constable, know that were here. If there was a problem, why are you appearing only now?
I have been traveling. The constable didnt throw you out because he hadnt had a chance to talk to me, and find out if, for some reason, I had decided to rent the place. I just arrived back in the village this evening, and learned that my home was being turned into the Pete Rose Circus!
Oh! Really! Gina sucked in air.
Toni looked at her, smiling grimly. Gina looked stricken, and certainly she felt the depth of the insult herself. I quite enjoy the Pete Rose Circus, she said. Arms crossed over her chest, she turned back to the stranger. Look, were truly baffled by your sudden appearance, especially since we didnt know that you existed and because we do have legal forms. Perhaps people here keep their own counsel, but surely someone might have mentioned you to us! And we walked right in here, without even having to acquire keyswe found a set on a hook by the door. Perhaps youre out of town too frequently, Mr. MacNiall.