“Is that all you’ve got, MacDougall?” Stripped down to their braies, both men circled each other up on deck, swords and targes in hand, surrounded by the men of the ship.

“I’ve been locked in a cell for ten years, what’s your excuse?” Tierney taunted.

Samuel chuckled, then lunged forward, twisting at the last second when Tierney went to block and hit him back with his targe. “When ashore, I’ve had a wife keeping me up late at night, making it hard to train in the morning. I daresay that’s more than you can say.”

Tierney let out a loud roar of laughter, ignoring the jibe at being forced to live without a woman in his bed for so long. “Does she keep ye up braiding each other’s hair?” This time Tierney was the one to lunge forward, his sword crashing against Samuel’s.

It had been ten long years since he trained with a sword, and though he was rusty, with each attack and parry, he could feel muscles he’d not used coming back to life. Like riding a horse, once a body knew what it was doing, it was a skill that seemed permanently ingrained in the muscle, which he would also need to reacquaint himself with again soon. Even his feet seemed to remember instinctively how to shuffle back and forth.

“You wish you had a woman you could touch,” Samuel countered. “’Haps one of the swabs would stand in for you to practice?”

At that several of the swabs hurried back to doing their chores, not entirely certain if Tierney would make use of the suggestion. Bastards!

“I dinna need a swab for a stand in when I’ve set my mind on sticking my sword in ye.” He winked, earning a score of laughs and hollers from the men.

Samuel cackled at that, their swords clashing back and forth as they moved in a circle. “You’re getting the hang of it.”

“I’ve trained whelps with better skill than ye.”

“Is that so?”

Of course, it wasn’t true. Samuel de Mowbray was exceedingly good with a sword, had been asked to stay on as Captain at his brother-by-marriage’s castle to train the men because he was so good at what he did. Which was the main reason Tierney had asked him to train him every afternoon on their voyage back to Scotland. He couldn’t land on his home soil with the skill of a half-wit and expect his men to pledge their loyalty to him as their protector.

Putting his weight behind his sword for additional power, he gave a mighty thwack of his blade toward Samuel, who leapt back at the blow, but didn’t lose his weapon or balance.

“I think you’re ready for lesson two,” Samuel said with a wide grin.

“And what’s that?”

Before Samuel could tell him, there was a painful slap on Tierney’s bare back.

“Ballocks!” he shouted, whirling around to find Michael, one of the MacDougall warriors, armed and arching his sword in the air. He grinned like a lad who’d just swiped all the honey-buns from Cook’s table.

“Two men at once,” Samuel said from the front.

Tierney growled, using his targe to block on one side and his sword on the other. He was definitely not ready for this. They came at him hard and swift, and the muscles of his arms strained from the exertion of keeping them at bay. His feet scrambled for purchase as he shuffled, jumped, lunged, dodged.

“Put one of us down,” Samuel ordered.

Tierney couldn’t answer, his breathing hard, sweat dripping into his eyes, but in his head, he shouted, I’m trying!

With a blow of his sword against Samuel’s, and a slam of his targe against Michael’s blade, Tierney dropped suddenly in a crouch, and the men above him stumbled forward, just barely glancing their weapons off each other. Quick as a whip, Tierney kicked a leg out and turned, knocking Michael’s legs out from under him, and then with a roll, he was behind Samuel, sword blade at the man’s neck.

Samuel dropped his weapons and raised his hands above his head, then started to clap. The men on the outskirts howled with pride at Tierney having bested the two men.

“Nicely done!” Samuel said. While Michael lay on the floor laughing and trying to catch his breath. “You had to think quick on your feet. I’d have been a dead man, and likely Michael next.”

“Aye. Ye still might,” Tierney said with a chuckle, letting his blade tip fall to the deck floor.

“Mercy, my laird,” Samuel teased and turned around.

Tierney grinned, glancing out over the water, then felt the point of a blade at his ribs.

“Ah-ha,” Samuel whooped. “I’d have left you with a wound while you took my head. Never let your guard down, even in the face of victory.”

“Noted.” Tierney backed away and held out his arm for Samuel to shake. “My gratitude.”

“You’ll be ready.” Samuel nodded, confidence in his expression.

Pride swelled in Tierney’s chest. Aye, he’d not been perfect during training, but he was a hell of a lot better off skill-wise than where he’d thought he would be.

Reaching down a hand to Michael, Tierney hauled him up and they patted each other on the back.

“Who’s next?” Tierney asked, raising his sword and pointing it toward the crowd of men.

The MacDougalls were eager to practice with their laird, to help him achieve maximum skill. They believed in him, and if they were going to get the rest of Scotland to believe in him, he needed to be top notch.

Tierney could not have been more grateful. A wash of warmth filled his chest, puffed it out, even. When he’d been in that cell, when he’d lost his men, he’d been at the very bottom, filled with despair and anger.

In all his imaginings, he’d not thought when freedom finally came that he’d have men to turn to. It was humbling and exhilarating at the same time.

“I’ll take ye on, my laird.”

“Fitz is it?” Tierney eyed the massive man, easily half a foot taller than himself, and at least a foot wider. Fitz was a veritable giant.

“Aye.”

Tierney’s grin widened, as he rolled his neck, shook out the tightness in his muscles. “Let us begin.”

Late that evening, the sunset gave way to an inky black sky covered in thousands of sparkling gold stars. They layered over the black nightscape and all around them the sea was calm, lapping softly at the hull of the ship.

Tierney lounged on pile of rigging, as did a dozen or so MacDougall men and Samuel, too. They passed a few jugs of uisge-beatha back and forth, the heady liquid warming their bellies and soothing the aches from their training that afternoon. Despite the bruised feeling in his ribs, and the cut above his eye, Tierney couldn’t stop grinning.

“I’ve something to say,” he announced. “I’ve not had a chance as yet to give ye all my gratitude for coming to fetch me.”

The men started to murmur at once, but Tierney held up his hand, “Let me finish.”

“The Sassenach bastard who put me in that cell would have liked to see me perish. My warden kept me alive, though barely, and the pretense he had to keep up if caught, would have gotten him killed. That’s beside the point, though. When they let me go, when they took me to port, they fully intended to kill me off, and when they attacked us at sea, I know they wanted to kill me then, too. That ye fought with me, that ye believe in me, I want ye to know I will not forget it. I will bring our clan back to greatness. The MacDougall name will once more be respected by our countrymen, and by our king.”

The men raised their fists in the air and shouted their agreement.

“And another thing, by the time we make port, I’ll be able to kick all of your arses.” He chuckled, and the men ribbed each other. When the laughing died down, Tierney grew serious. “Tell me, what happened at Dunstaffnage when I left?”

The men glanced from one to the other, not wanting to be the one to tell him the sad state of their clan.

Tierney took a sip of uisge-beatha, letting it burn a path down his throat and waited patiently, making eye contact with each man, silently given them permission to speak freely.

Finally, Fitz spoke up. “Your father… He continued on the path he started at Dalrigh. If a MacDougall tried to argue, they were banished. So most of us… We switched sides for a time, only to survive, and keep our families safe, but in the backs of our minds, we prayed for your return, my laird. We knew when that time came, that ye’d do right by us. That we’d stand with ye, and fight for ye.”

A well of emotion pooled in Tierney’s gut. The men had suffered much under his father’s rule. They had to go against what they believed in, else risk the lives of their loved ones. He could understand that. In order to get out of The Tower, he had to lie about where his loyalties lay.

“The country is as divided as it ever was, my laird,” Michael added. “Scots versus English. Lowlanders versus Highlanders versus Islanders. With the death of Longshanks and his volatile son, ’tis as if the entire country has gone mad. The Bruce is still standing strong, having beat the English at Bannockburn a few years back, but the struggle is still ongoing. Robert the Bruce’s brother has been named King of Ireland, and so the English are even more determined to suppress the Bruce line.”

“I was as young as ye were, my laird, at the Battle of Dalrigh. Fighting alongside my da, and yours. When they turned tail on their own king.” Fitz shook his head. “Me da was in on it, ye see, and I’d no choice.”

“Fitz, I dinna blame ye. Let me be clear to all of ye, if ye followed my father, I dinna blame ye. Ye were following orders. That ye are here now, that ye are with me now, means that ye know the right way of things. And if ye dinna, then God help ye, jump ship now.”

None of the men stood to fling themselves overboard, instead, all of them raised their fists once more and shouted their loyalty, loud enough to wake the Sea King.

“We will take back what is ours,” Tierney said, conviction filling his voice. “We will prove to the King of Scotland that we are with him. The past will remain in the past. But in order to overcome it, I must know all. I’ve been locked in the dark for a decade, lads. I need to know what I’m up against.”

This time Michael spoke. “There’s enough English gold in Scotland to fill the rivers and lochs.” Meaning that the English used bribery to keep the Scots under their thumbs. That hadn’t changed. Hell his father had grown rich by betraying his king and son.

“I imagined so.” Tierney swiped a hand over his brow. Every king of England since there was a King of England used his coin, titles and lands to entice Scots nobles and chieftains to his side. And the lot of the greedy bastards who did so were the bane of his existence. His own stepmother was in the pocket of the king, and would have his whole clan do the same. “King Edward let me go because he believes I will be loyal to him as my father was. My stepmother wants me dead. Wants her son to take my place, which would guarantee English loyalty. I canna take back what is mine, I canna save the legacy and honor of our clan, without ye men. Without ye backing me to the rest of our people. How do they lean?”

“The English have ravaged their stores,” Fitz said. “The MacDonalds, too. The MacArthurs have the stewardship of Dunstaffnage Castle, but I’ve heard whispers they’re unhappy with the arrangement, that though they are holding the lands and castle, that MacDonald is bleeding them dry. I’ve heard on strong authority, my laird, the MacArthur captain is looking for a chance to rebel. His mother and sisters were murdered by the English, and it’s eating him alive to be beholden to the bastards.”

“The MacDonalds have always been an enemy of the MacDougalls,” Tierney scowled.

“They might have been at one time, my laird, but they are also allies of the Bruce. ’Haps now, ye may have a chance to gain them as an ally.”

“If I’m planning to take back what is mine from them, they will not ally with me.” He shook his head.

“For the right price, MacDonald may be persuaded.”

“So I must bow to them in order to please the king?” Hell, that didn’t feel right, but if he had to, then he would. “What of my father’s army?”

“They were divided, half are with your stepmother, serving her sons, still afeared of the Sassenachs.”

“And the other half?”

“They remain loyal, at Dunstaffnage, they have forged a relationship with the MacArthurs, but they are ready to rise up for ye,” Michael said. “Fitz has seen to it that they’re ready.”

“They are ready,” Fitz said. “We’ve been training with the MacArthurs. And have been waiting for ye to return.”

“This will not be easy,” Tierney said. “But nothing worth fighting for ever is.”

His mind journeyed back to the cave where he’d had another type of battle altogether, with the beautiful woman sleeping in his cabin. The way she’d brandished that fiery log, determination in her eye. She expressed how he felt. And the way she’d kissed him… Och, but how was he supposed to protect her when he was taking her headlong into what could be years worth of battles? Dunstaffnage was his by birthright, but it wasn’t yet his. He could be living in the woods as an outlaw staging raid after raid until he got it back. Mayhap even die trying.

But perhaps he wouldn’t have to. For if the king had sent Samuel to get him, to take stock of Tierney’s loyalties, mayhap returning to his own lands wouldn’t be as much of a struggle as he thought. And if the MacArthurs and MacDougalls at Dunstaffnage knew of his impending arrival, then he’d know soon enough if he had them on his side. Samuel had mentioned that for a price the MacDonalds would consider returning his land to him. What would that price be, and could he pay it?

And why did he keep thinking about kissing Rosamond?

The whisky was going straight to his head. All his thoughts were in a jumble, and at the forefront, a woman, rather than the ensuing battles he was certain to wage.

There was no other explanation for it. He shoved the jug at Samuel before he did something he regretted, like go below and ravish a certain hellion.