“Keely.”
Time had dulled the pain, relegatinghercountenance to the occasional nightmare. But the mere mention of her name burned a new hole in his soul. “I doona care.” But he did—too much for a man who’d been away so long.
John smirked, acting as if he’d seized the power in their conversation. “Ye’re a bad liar.”
“Am I?” Alex surged closer, standing a head taller than John. The temptation to beat him senseless nearly won the day. “Ye are the worst sort of thief,brother.” There was no love in that designation, no loyalty for his own sibling. Only rage and hatred. Alex touched his sword. In the heat of battle in the desert, he’d often pictured his brother’s face as he cut down an enemy. It served a purpose—making him more lethal than most—able to kill a man without caring for who or what he was.
John’s shoulders drooped. “She spoke her vows before God but ran away the same night.Beforewe consummated our marriage.”
The news did little to ease the hostility swirling inside Alex. His time away had altered his view. The only man he trusted was himself. It kept him alive and made it easier to wake up every day. Men with deeply rooted feelings–a weak man of conscience like John–would have withered and blown away in the desert winds a long time ago. “Good luck,” Alex murmured as he turned his back.
“Shame follows ye,” John yelled. “Father would roll over in his grave if he knew ye abandoned yer familyagain.”
Though his brother’s words reached his ears, nothing touched the black depths of Alex’s soul. Numbness ruled him. He must never relinquish the tight control he exercised over his heart. And since he’d grown fond of the silver and gold the eastern princes paid him for protecting their fortresses, he had every intention of returning to foreign shores.
The sound of thundering hooves made Alex stop. Against his better judgment, he looked over his shoulder. A dozen warriors had arrived. He cursed as he backtracked, getting close enough to overhear what they discussed.
“Come now, milord,” one said. “There’s no time to spare.”
“How bad is it?” John asked as he climbed into the saddle, looking more haggard by the second.
“The west village is burning. Many have been killed, I’m afraid.”
“The women and children?”
“The Sutherland pigs gave no quarter, milord.”
The wordsSutherland pigsstirred something inside Alex. Memories from his childhood flashed before his eyes—the smell of burning wood, the cries of helpless women seeking their missing children. He’d witnessed Sutherland barbarism too many times as a youth, unable to stand against his enemies because he was too young. Overcome by something powerful, the target of Alex’s rage shifted suddenly.
Even the legendary warrior Achilles possessed a weakness. So did Alex. Knowing innocent women and children had been slaughtered lit his blood on fire. John dinna matter. The betrayal of a woman dinna matter. Only the right to live in peace did. And those crofters—people who had served his grandfather and father—deserved his protection.
“What is it, Alex?” John called from his restless steed. “Did Father’s ghost whisper in yer ear?”
Alex gazed into his brother’s eyes. There was no passion, no thirst for blood vengeance, only a tired man who had been pushed too hard for too long. Perhaps John had missed his calling as a priest, for that’s what Alex saw in his elder brother—a man of the cloth, not a man of war. “If Father had anything to say to me, Brother, he wouldna whisper, he’d scream it from the highest peak.”
John’s warhorse circled him, lifting its front hooves. “There is no time to argue, Alex. Make yer choice. Join us or be on yer way.”
Alex unsheathed his curved sword, a gift from one of the princes he’d saved. “MacAoidh,” he cried out, identifying himself as a MacKay. The clan motto followed. “Bi tren…”Be true, be valiant.
Chapter Two
“Why am Iweeping?” Keely dismounted, pausing to take in the view of the valley below. She hadn’t crossed a MacKay border since her wedding night, abandoning the husband she never wanted, the new laird, John Mackay.
She didn’t blame her past on anyone but herself. But after five years of hiding behind the walls of Dunrobin Castle, relying on the charity of the Sutherlands, she’d finally decided to face her past. To seek forgiveness, first from her husband’s family, and then her own.
Whether they’d welcome her remained a mystery, for she’d sought sanctuary with the enemy. Which raised the next concern. What name should she use? Keely MacKay, or her father’s name, Oliphant? Surely she had no legal claim on the MacKays, for she’d never consummated her ill-fated marriage. Not in the flesh, anyway. However, she had taken vows in the kirk, before her own family, Clan MacKay, and God.
In order to move on with her life, to free herself from the burden of endless guilt, she must attain absolution. Twould be the only way she could show her face in public again.
“Come, Meara.” She patted her mare’s head affectionately, taking the reins and leading her down the hillside.
The well-worn sheep path would eventually take her to the west village, where the shepherds lived with their families. She missed the bleating of the ewes and lambs, having always been welcomed there.
In the Sutherland keep, she was expected to conduct herself as a lady at all times. There’d been no barefoot walks in the pastures or nighttime swims in the loch. Only sewing and weaving, the occasional ride, and perhaps a bit of music if the laird was in the mood for entertainment. Sutherland women were coddled and kept from the outside world. Unfortunately for Keely, she’d already tasted the sweetness of freedom for too long, so her time there had felt more like a prison sentence.
It had taken many nights of hard riding to evade the Sutherland guards. Keely planned her escape carefully over time, hiding food and clothing in the stables whenever she went riding.
Now, excited to see her friends again, she rode the last couple of miles to the village. What greeted her shocked and saddened her. All that remained of the pleasant cottages were smoldering wood frames and ash.
