Four

Lachlan sat in the great hall on one of the chairs he’d pulled up beside Adaira’s makeshift bed, holding her hand and cursing himself for the hundredth time that he hadn’t sent her home straight away when he had the chance.

She’d been on the table for over two hours while Amber worked on the stab wound to her lower abdomen—washing and stitching and smearing her with herbs and salves. Amber’s arisaid was covered in his cousin’s blood by the time she finished. The biggest worry now, she said, was infection. Though the girl had also lost a concerning amount of blood.

She’d moved on to treat other injuries after Adaira—MacPhersons, MacKays, and MacLeans. He’d watched as she’d limped around, checking and dressing head wounds, stitching cuts, setting bones, wrapping sprains, treating burns, and even realigning a shoulder that had popped out of joint. Ian had brought her satchel long ago, and she’d sent him back out to her cottage at first light, along with a guard, to pick more herbs from her garden.

Niall and the housekeeper, Finola, had been on hand to help wherever they could, mostly cleaning up after Amber and replenishing her supplies. And a young lass named Mary, who’d made eyes at Ian, had come up from the village to assist Amber.

Everyone was exhausted, but none had worked harder than Amber or had the added burden of a sprained ankle. She’d grimaced in pain several times, causing him to grind his teeth with frustration. None could do the work she did, but it bothered him that she tended to everyone but herself.

Earc lay on the bed next to Adaira’s. He’d been battered and bruised after his fight and subsequent near-drowning, and he’d swallowed much water. Amber had treated him and kept him close for observation. Instead of being angry at her for assaulting him in the cave, Earc’s puppy-dog gaze followed her around the great hall as she worked. As did the eyes of many other men from all three clans.

That bothered him too.

He couldn’t fathom the sway she held over the men. Aye, she was lovely, but she was covered in blood and gore, her hair was sawed off, she shouted out orders to everyone, she was too busy to give a whit about her patients’ feelings, and when an injury turned out to be more serious than she thought, she even cursed like one of his men. He couldn’t remember how many times he’d heard “God’s blood!” explode from her mouth.

His eyes went back to following her—just like the other men—except his gaze was filled with annoyance. When would she be done? Where would she sleep? Why wouldn’t she eat the food he’d brought her?

He’d just caught Niall’s eye and signaled him over when the outer door opened with a squeak. Callum and Hamish entered and wound their way toward him between the beds.

News on Murray, then, and by the looks on their faces, not good.

He was about to stand and tell them he’d meet them outside, when Amber pinned him with a stern gaze. She jerked her head toward the door, indicating for him to leave. Even though it had been his plan to go all along, his spine stiffened, and he found himself wanting to do the exact opposite of whatever she wanted. The woman had no idea how to ask for anything, she just gave orders.

He rose slowly, staring back at her, his own face stern, until she huffed and spun away. Well, that was something. At least she’d turned away first.

Rolling his eyes at his childish behavior, he gave Adaira’s arm one final squeeze before intercepting Niall, who was rushing toward him.

“Has Amber eaten anything?” he asked the steward. Idiot question. He knew she hadn’t; he’d been watching her. “Maybe put the food on a slice of bread and feed her a bite while she works.”

The steward’s mouth dropped open. “I doona think she’ll take it. When she’s hungry—famished—she’ll eat. Not before then.”

“She needs to take care of herself too.”

“Aye, but she won’t. Not before she knows everyone is safe. ’Twas the same with her grandmother.”

“And did you tell her to choose one of the bedchambers upstairs? I had the fires lit.”

“Laird McKay, she willna leave the wounded.”

Lachlan rubbed his hand over his eyes. God’s truth, he was tired. He could only imagine how exhausted she was. “Make her a bed down here, then, and tell her if she doesn’t at least sit on it and put her foot up, I’ll…I’ll…” he tried to think of something the healer back home had an aversion to. “I’ll release my hounds into the sick room.”

“It willna work. Amber likes dogs.” He looked at Lachlan curiously. “I didn’t realize you brought dogs with you.”

“I didn’t. What will work then?”

Niall shrugged his shoulders. “Naught. I’ll make a bed nearby, and if she’s tired enough and feels she isna needed at the moment, she will rest.”

Lachlan sighed. “Aye. Go do it then.”

The steward nodded and headed to the stairs. Lachlan looked one last time at Amber’s back as she leaned over a patient, her shaggy hair, still home to several wood chips, irritating him as much as her limp—for what both things represented—and strode toward the door. It would do him good to get some air.

The morning sun was bright in his eyes after the dim light of the keep, and he raised a hand to shield them as he made his way down to the bailey. He glanced around, amazed to see it looked like naught had happened here last night. It was a miracle he and his men had taken over the castle with such little damage—to it and to the men. No deaths, and Amber said everyone, including Adaira, would heal.

That wasn’t to say the castle was safe. Nay, the walls were crumbling and the portcullis was rusted, not to mention the poor training of the guards. He had much work to do to get Castle MacPherson repaired, more safety measures in place, and its warriors properly trained, if people were to be protected in the future. Until then, he was beholden to the irritating, redheaded witch inside, who gave too much of herself and expected too little in return—unless it was her demand that he be their laird.

“What did you find?” he asked as he joined Callum and Hamish in the bailey, the ground only somewhat chewed up from the fighting.

“Machar Murray is gone,” Callum said.

Lachlan closed his eyes briefly. “As I suspected.” The bile rose in his throat, but he swallowed it down. They would begin their search again. This time, they had a name and a place to start.

The rat had nowhere to hide.

“We couldnae find any more escape routes in the keep, but there were three dug in recent years from other places—two from the barracks and one from the chapel. Both lead outside the perimeter wall.”

“Have you spoken to the MacPhersons? Did anyone else know?”

“Nay, I doona think so. Not at the barracks, anyway. Murray dug the tunnel under a chamber his personal guard used—the three we think attacked Hamish and Adaira. Everyone called them the laird’s dogs. No one was allowed into the chamber but them. Come have a look.”

They strode across the open area toward a long, low building on the far side of the bailey. “What of the chapel?” Lachlan asked. “You think the priest was in on Murray’s escape?”

“I wouldnae be surprised. ’Tis said he ran out in fright last night rather than tend to his people.” Callum couldn’t stand hypocrisy.

“Being a coward doesn’t make one guilty, Brother.”

“Aye, just unworthy of judging others, which the MacPhersons said he did with great enthusiasm.”

Lachlan had known many brave priests in his day, but he’d also known the opposite. Like all men, they were fallible. Wearing the cloth no more made you a worthy leader than wearing the laird’s mantle.

As they neared the barracks, he noticed several broken wooden crates, a few arrows still stuck in the pile of firewood that had tumbled out. The wood chips on the ground looked like those he’d seen in Amber’s hair. “What happened here?”

Hamish tugged on the ends of his beard. “Murray, we think. An ambush once the fighting was o’er. ’Tis a good thing your lass noticed the torches were out, or she’d be dead. Me too, most likely.”

Dead? Lachlan stopped in his tracks and stared at Hamish, who’d also come to a stop. The blood began to pound in his veins. “You speak of Amber?”

“Aye. The arrows were intended for her. I barely had time to push her behind the crate before we were attacked.”

Lachlan backtracked to the knocked-over crates of firewood, feeling like he’d swallowed a handful of gravel. That’s why she’d had wood chips in her hair, and why she’d been running in a panic through the bailey last night.

Machar Murray had just tried to murder her.

The pulse thrummed in his temples, and he found himself wanting to wrap his fingers around the rat’s neck—and not only for his brother this time, but for Amber as well.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to get past the rising anger, focus on the facts. “Someone—possibly Machar Murray—stayed behind, risked capture and certain death in order to kill her?”

Callum reached down and pulled out an arrow to give to Lachlan. It was newly made, with a distinctive knot in the twine and warp to the shaft. The feathers were from a raven, and the metal still shiny in places. “’Twas Murray, all right,” Callum said. “That’s his arrow. I heard he makes them himself, doesn’t let anyone else use them. And Niall did say he was obsessed with Amber. She held him off for five years. He must think she arranged the attack.”

Callum had a look in his eye that Lachlan recognized—he was plotting—and every one of Lachlan’s muscles tensed in anticipation: he just knew this plot somehow involved Amber.

Sometimes his foster brother was too good at strategizing.

Still, he had to listen. “Go on.”

“He’ll harbor that hatred. That obsession. He wouldnae like his ‘possession’ defying him…unless, of course, she was involved somehow with his escape.”

Lachlan’s hand had clenched into a fist at the suggestion, and he had to force himself to relax it. “I doona think that’s the case.”

“Aye, but when Murray’s plot to take o’er the MacKays failed, he killed your brother’s wife so she couldnae identify him.”

“I said ’tis not the case. He and Amber were not involved, and she did not help him.”

“Most likely, but he may still return for her. Either to kill or abduct her. He willna be able to let her go.”

Lachlan let out a tense breath and rubbed his palm over his jaw. “So…you want to use her as bait.”

“’Tis a possibility worth considering.”

He nodded, but his stomach had tied into knots. His forced calm deserted him at the thought of the danger it would put her in—danger she’d courted for so long already. Snapping the arrow in half, he tossed it to the ground and resumed his trek to the barracks. “She ne’er should have stayed with the clan when she was in such peril. She should have left long ago. ’Tis a miracle he didn’t try to kill her sooner.”

“Aye. But she’s stubborn. And dedicated. ’Twould be difficult for her to leave.”

“Bah, difficult or not, she should have done it to save her life. And her clan should have made her go. They asked too much of her. They still do.”

They reached the barracks, and Lachlan paused with his hand on the door. “He’ll come back for her, have no doubt. I want four guards on her at all times until he’s caught.”

“She willna take well to that,” Callum said. “Put the guards on her, but let them know she canna suspect their true purpose. They can pretend to be among the ‘besotted.’”

Hamish grunted in amusement. “I doona think they’ll have to pretend. Half the men have already gone in for treatment just to see her, and for injuries they wouldnae have bothered with before.”

Lachlan rounded on his second-in-command, the heat of his anger turning to deadly calm. “I will beat the next man bloody who does that—whether he’s a MacKay, MacLean, or MacPherson. She’s already worked to the bone. She hasn’t slept or eaten, and her own injury goes untreated.”

“Nay, I’ll beat the MacLeans,” Callum said.

Hamish’s amusement faded, and he squeezed the back of his neck with his palm. “Aye, you’re right, of course. I ne’er thought of that. I shall tell them.”

“You do that. And tell them to leave her alone, while you’re at it. If she doesn’t smile back or gesture them over, she doesn’t want their attention.”

“Aye, Laird.”

They entered the barracks, and Lachlan was surprised to see the MacPhersons laughing and joking with his and Callum’s men. They were still under guard, and the warriors took their task seriously, but the MacPhersons didn’t seem to mind.

A cheer went up when they saw Lachlan and Callum. “Laird MacKay! Laird MacLean!” several of the MacPhersons shouted. Some of them had imbibed too much, despite the midmorning hour, and an air of celebration permeated the room.

One of the men started singing—a song of victory—and Lachlan’s anger slowly dissipated beneath the hope and good cheer that filled the room. Aye, these were decent people, as Amber had said, and he had no doubt they loved and appreciated her very much.

In the absence of a laird or clergy who cared for them, they’d turned to their healer. She had become their leader in the face of Machar Murray’s treachery, and she would likely no more abandon her clan—despite the dangers to herself—than he would abandon his. He sighed, caught Callum’s smiling gaze, and accepted the mug of ale someone handed to him. He even sang a few bars of the song.

’Twas one of his favorites, and he’d sung it many times after a battle.

“Laird MacKay!”

He looked up and saw the big man he’d taken down on the wall last night—the one with the bushy beard and hearty laugh. Aye, his laugh was still hearty, and Lachlan couldn’t help smiling.

He nodded at the MacPherson. “Are you all right, then? I didn’t hurt you?”

The big man laughed and pounded his stomach. “It takes more than a scrawny whelp of a man like yourself to hurt ol’ Tavis.”

“More like too much ale and an errant chicken bone!” someone else shouted.

Everyone laughed, including Tavis. When he caught his breath, he turned his shining face to Lachlan. “’Tis said you are to be our new laird.”

The room quieted. Every MacPherson stared at him, hope on their faces as they waited for his answer.

Lachlan stared back at them. They were good-hearted men who’d been ground into the earth far too long. How could he step on them once again?

“Aye, I suppose I am. If I doona, I’m sure Amber will come after me, and I wouldnae want to risk her grim countenance.”

The men all laughed again, even more excited now. One of them shouted out, “Our Amber’s an angel!”

Another yelled, “She’s our Queen of Elfame!”

“Nay, she’s none of that,” Tavis said. “She’s the pride of Clan MacPherson.”

* * *

“What are you doing?” Amber shouted up at Niall as he struggled to carry bedding down the flight of stairs to the great hall. She signaled for Mary to take over bandaging the shoulder of the MacKay warrior she was working on, then limped across the room to give Niall a much needed hand.

“I’m setting up a bed for you down here. On orders from our new laird.”

She stopped in her tracks, her arms full of the pillows and quilts Niall had given her. “You’re what?”

“Aye, he wants you to sleep and eat. He’s concerned you’re working too hard, so I’m to build you a bed down here and hand feed you as you tend the wounded.”

Amber’s jaw dropped open in shock. “Feed me? Has he lost his mind?”

“Aye, he must have if he thinks he can make you do anything you doona want to do.”

She scowled at him. “Since when has he become our laird?”

“Since you blackmailed him and he complied.”

“I did no such thing.”

“Aye, you did. You said you wouldnae help Adaira unless he became our laird, which we both know is a lie.”

“Nay, I said I would help Adaira, and he should bloody well help us too!” That was what she’d said, wasn’t it?

“Well, either way, we now have a new laird.”

“Since when? Adaira isna even healed yet.”

“Since he told the lads in the barracks ’twas so.” Niall pushed two benches together against the wall and laid several quilts and a pillow over them. “Do you think he’ll want us to change our name?”

“What are you talking about? You’re full of nonsense this morning.”

“Well, if he willna become a MacPherson, we’ll have to become MacKays, aye?”

Amber handed off her last pillow and placed her hands on her hips. ’Twas no wee matter to change a clan’s name.

“O’er my dead body!”

“Doona fash, Amber. He’s a decent man. More than decent. I’m sure he wouldnae ask such a thing of us. Especially if you were nice to him.”

“Nice to him?”

“Aye.”

“How nice?”

“Well, it wouldnae hurt you to smile at him once in a while, now would it? He isna like the other men here. I’m sure he knows many fine women and willna have his head turned by a simple smile.”

Many fine women.

The words echoed in Amber’s head as she imagined Lachlan surrounded by well-groomed women wearing expensive silks and fine woolen arisaids, their hair brushed and styled, their hands and nails clean.

She looked down at her own hands. Blood was caked in the lines at her wrists and under her fingernails, despite washing them regularly last night and this morning. And not one nail was smooth. Aye, they were broken and jagged, like her hair. She had tried to smooth them out as she didn’t want to scratch her patients, but she hadn’t done so in a uniform shape, that’s for sure.

Not that she cared. Besides, Lachlan was responsible for half of her nails breaking when he’d dragged her across the scrubby field, and she’d be happy to tell him that if he dared to comment.

Niall waved a hand at her arisaid as he continued. “Of course, he may turn his head because of the blood, dirt, and God knows what else on your clothes. Not to mention the state of your hair.”

Amber almost raised her hands to smooth her jagged tresses. She caught herself halfway and slammed her arms back down to her sides. “If he doesn’t like the way I look—or smell, for that matter—he can leave.”

“Or you can take a moment for yourself to wash up and have a sleep.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Niall MacPherson, are you trying to manipulate me?”

“I would ne’er do such a thing, because it would ne’er work.”

She scoffed, then picked up the last quilt, which sat on a nearby chair, and handed it to him. As he laid it on the bed, she couldn’t help but think how comfortable the wee nest looked. Aye, she was tired, and her ankle felt like it had been pounded by the MacPherson blacksmith on the forge—with double hammers.

He patted the pile of blankets. “If you sit, lass, I’ll be able to sit too, and my bones do ache. You can rest your foot in my lap, and I’ll look at your ankle.”

“So, ’tis blackmail, then, is it?”

“Aye, I’ve learned from the best.”

Amber looked back at her patients, thinking on the state of each one before deciding everything was under control. She lifted herself onto the makeshift bed.

“Lie back,” Niall instructed as he sat on the end.

She did with a groan, her eyes closing as her head hit the pillow, her feet lifting. Niall grasped her sore foot gently and worked to loosen the laces on the boots Hamish had cinched tight. When Niall slipped the first one off, she pressed her forearm across her eyes and bit her lip to stop from crying out.

God’s blood, that hurt.

His fingers loosened the ribbon at her knee then pulled down her sock and unwrapped the binding. Amber peeked out from beneath her arm when he clucked with concern. Her entire ankle and foot were swollen, despite having been strapped up, and it had darkened to an ugly, black bruise.

“What can I do for it?” Niall asked.

The concern in his voice almost brought tears to her eyes. Aye, she was tired.

“I’ve checked it. ’Tis not broken, just a sprain.”

“A bad one, by the looks of it. Can you stay off it?”

She laughed, unable to help herself. “Nay, I canna stay off it.” Then she sighed and closed her eyes again, her body all but melting into the bedding. “I promise to use the cane more, and I’ll have a wee rest right now. That’ll help. Have Mary bind it for me while I close my eyes, then lace my boot back up—tight. If I have time later on, I’ll go down to the loch and dip my foot in for a few minutes. The cold water will take down some of the swelling.”

“You willna have time, of course, so I’ll bring water in a bowl from the well.”

“Aye. Thank you, Niall.”

“Nay, thank you, Amber. You came back to help us after we couldnae help you.”

She reached out with her hand and squeezed his. “You did help. You got me out of the castle and defied Laird Murray to do so. We all did the best that we could under terrible circumstances.”

“And now he’s gone. Maybe not dead, but gone for good from our lives. God sent us a miracle when he sent us Lachlan MacKay.”

“I’m not sure Lachlan would think of it that way. Callum either. They may have saved us, but our ‘miracle’ came at a terrible price to Clan MacKay. He is much aggrieved, though he may not show it.”

She thought back to the emotion she’d heard in his voice when he spoke of his brother Donald, and of Machar Murray. Aye, he hated Machar as strongly as he’d loved his brother.

“Have you thought on what I said to you before you went into the tunnel?”

She cracked open an eye to look at him, trying to get her sluggish mind working again. “What would that be?”

“About taking time for your own life now. Finding a good man, a decent man, and having a house full of bairns. You have a lot to give, Amber MacPherson, even though you pretend to be so fierce at times.”

“I am fierce. I would ne’er have survived if I wasn’t.”

“Aye, but you’re also a mother bear, and you should be filling your den with cubs who tumble all o’er you.”

Amber closed her eyes again. She loved children, but the last thing on her mind these past five years had been finding a husband and having a family. How could she, when she’d been so busy protecting her clan and herself from Machar Murray? She didn’t dream of kissing a handsome laird; she had nightmares of being raped by one.

And her nightmare had almost become a reality. If not for Lachlan and his men, she would most likely be dead or back in the brutal embrace of her former laird.

Still, she knew Niall well. Knew that he had a plan lurking in the back of his mind.

“And this decent man you mentioned wouldnae be Lachlan MacKay, now, would he?” she asked.

“Aye, he’s decent and strong enough to protect you and those you love. Would it be so wrong to try and catch the eye of a laird? Especially one as loyal, braw, and caring as him? He ordered me to feed you and make you a bed.”

“And that’s a good trait?”

“Aye, Amber. The man willna use you. He cares for your well-being and asks for naught in return.”

“Give him time. He’ll be wanting a kiss at least—once I wash and change my arisaid, anyway.”

“And what’s the matter with that? ’Tis hard for you to imagine, after defending yourself from Murray, but being intimate with a person you love is one of the most beautiful and pleasurable acts God gave us. You may find yourself wanting to kiss him back—and more.”

Amber’s eyes popped open, and she stared at Niall for a moment in shock before clapping her hands over her ears. “Och! I canna believe you said that. God’s blood, I may have to pour hot wax in my ears to burn out the words! Niall MacPherson, you canna talk to me about tupping!”

“Aye, well, you canna curse in such a manner or say ‘tupping’! I have long ago poured hot wax into my ears to keep your curses out.”

Amber tried to hold it in, but she burst out laughing. Niall joined her and they couldn’t stop for nigh on several minutes. ’Twas a good release after all they’d been through.

When the laughter subsided, she sighed—long and deep. Then she yawned. She tried to say something else, something about Lachlan MacKay and his love of fine women, tried to say that the state of her clothes, her hair, was not Niall’s concern. But the black hole of exhaustion dragged her under like a demon dragging a sinner to hell, and she slept.