“I dinna want to approach in the dark, so Óg and I will venture to Crannog in the morning. I want plenty of daylight to see where they lurk. I’m certain the Matheson already kens we’re on his land. His patrols will have alerted him.” Seamus looked in the Matheson keep’s direction. They’d been prepared for warriors to greet them, but thus far, they’d seen no one. They were at the field to survey the area and to prepare their warriors. They would make camp two miles away, a place much safer for Saoirse to wait.
Saoirse stood with Magnus as the leaders gathered to discuss what would happen next. They had a plan, but they’d known nothing was absolute until they saw the lay of the land. Saoirse’s gaze swept the expansive field, and she couldn’t understand how it was a strategic point for any clan to rally. She supposed it kept them hidden when they met before riding out. However, it appeared ill advised for the Mathesons to wage any battles there. If, somehow, they didn’t know where the army lurked, and they rallied in the field before going to battle, the five-clan army would annihilate them.
“Saoirse, I still hope the Matheson will be reasonable, and it willna come to a fight.” Magnus whispered to his wife. She nodded, but her eyes continued to roam across the field. They narrowed as she spotted something. She leaned forward and tilted her head.
“Is that the same metal reflection ye saw from the forest?” Saoirse nudged her chin toward the shiny object. She didn’t want to point. She didn’t know if it was a person, and if it was, if they could see her.
Magnus followed her gaze. “Aye.” He turned to his brother. “They’re watching.”
“Where?” Alex asked.
“Straight ahead, but slightly to the left,” Saoirse answered. “I’m certain I saw something shiny. It was like what Magnus spied from the forest at home.”
Liam whistled and pointed. A dozen men mounted their nearby horses and rode to where Liam indicated. They didn’t get far before a score of Matheson men rode forward. They were too far away to tell if the laird was among them until they rounded the left bank of the field. The Sinclairs turned their mounts and returned to the camp.
“Why are ye here?” A bass voice boomed.
“Why’d ye try to kill ma brother?” Seamus called back. “I think ye ken why we’re here.”
The Mathesons stopped a hundred feet from where the leaders gathered. It was clear the deep voice belonged to an older man. His plaid and brooch declared him the clan’s laird. Magnus’s eyes narrowed as he glowered at his would-have-been uncle-by-marriage. He signaled, and Thormud shoved Caleb forward when he was awkward.
“Tell us why ye sent this mon to poison ma brother,” Seamus demanded. “Why did he tell Oona Sinclair that Magnus raped yer niece?”
“Caleb? I thought ye were dead.” The disbelief in Murdoch Matheson’s voice was genuine.
“Ye thought we killed him?” Liam stepped forward.
“Nay.” Murdoch shook his head as he stared at his clansman. “Yer horse came back to the keep without a rider, blood splattered on yer saddle. We searched, but we couldnae find ye. Yer mother…” The laird dismounted and strode forward. His fist plowed into the prisoner’s face. “Yer mother and father grieved for ye. Why?”
Caleb grunted at the impact, but he said nothing. The beating he’d taken and the cuts from the Sinclair brothers’ knives left him nearly dead. The journey weakened him further. He barely stood on his own. But he could have answered. He chose not to.
“Why is he with ye? And who is the woman ye named?” Murdoch looked at Liam, then Seamus.
“He came onto ma land.” Liam pointed at Caleb. “And dared to nae only trespass and hunt, but he thought he could send women to kill ma grandson.”
“Grandson? Seamus, ye said it was yer brother who was the victim. I dinna understand.”
“I married Lady Saoirse.” Magnus continued to glower. He wouldn’t believe anything Murdoch said until he had reason to believe him.
“He’s ma son now.” Alex stepped forward and crossed his arms. It signaled all the Sinclair men to do the same. Tristan, Wee Liam, Hamish Óg, and Alec did the same behind the Sinclairs. Hamish Mòr, Lachlan, and Callen raised their chins in defiance as they placed their hands on their hips. Monty stood off to the side and merely shook his head several times.
“Which makes him ma grandson.” Liam leaned forward, his eyes narrowed. “Nay one comes near ma family.”
“Ye married? That didna take ye long. Were ye already sniffing at her skirts, and that’s why ye rejected Louisa?”
Alex lunged forward, but Magnus was quicker. He ran forward and slammed into Murdoch, tackling him to the ground. He wrapped his hand around the older man’s throat and squeezed.
“Dinna speak of ma wife as though she were a whore. Dinna confuse Alex’s daughter for yer niece. They ken what happened.”
The Sutherlands and Mackays did, but no one shared the details of that fateful night with Monty. When Magnus said he didn’t attack Louisa like Oona claimed, Monty believed him without question.
Magnus released Murdoch’s throat and leaned back. The laird tried to throw Magnus from him, but the younger man’s weight was too great. Magnus stood and grabbed Murdoch’s leine, yanking him to his feet.
“If ye dinna want me to further humiliate ye in front of yer men, ye’ll keep a civil tongue in yer head. I dinna doubt yer men all ken yer niece for what she is, but our men dinna. I have nay hesitation to destroy ye and her by announcing to everyone what she did.”
“Ye wouldnae. It makes ye look weak.”
“Weak?” Seamus’s chuckle held no mirth. “Ma brother pulled a bed apart.”
