“Fergusson. Clan Fergusson, and nae mistake,” Hugh said bitterly. “There were nigh a dozen of those cursed Lowlanders.”
“You saw old Dugald himself?” Jamie asked tightly, his eyes flaming.
Hugh shook his head, but he did not waver. “Theclan cry was clear. The plaid colors were clear. I’ve fought enough Fergussons to know their colors as well as my own.”
“But you havena for two years, Hugh.”
“Aye, two years wasted,” Hugh spat. “Two years I could’ve been killing Fergussons sae I’d no’ be mourning a father and a brother now.”
Jamie said carefully, “It makes no sense, man. There’s many plaids resembling the Fergussons’, our own included. I must have more than a war cry anyone could imitate and colors seen in the dark.”
“It’s doubt yer have, Sir Jamie, and none here are blaming yer.” A crofter, one who had been warned by Simon, spoke up. “’Twas a cry I thought never to hear again after these two years of peace, but hear it I did as the cowards fled down the burn.”
“I’ve been up the burn and seen the damage,” another man stated. “’Tis what yer aiming to do about it we’re waiting to hear, Sir Jamie.”
Jamie was shocked by this challenge. Most of the men present were older. If his being only twenty-five wasn’t bad enough, his boyishly handsome face made him seem even younger. Those close to him knew of his fierce temper and frequently harsh judgments, but these men had seen little of him in the two years since his father had died and he’d become laird of Clan MacKinnion. There had been no opportunity for them to fight alongside Jamie.
“You want me to lead you in revenge? I’ll do that gladly, for whoever strikes at you strikes at me.” Jamie returned their stares, boldly eyeing each man.None could mistake the cold resolve in his hazel eyes. “But I’ll no’ begin a long-dead feud again without good reason. You’ll get your revenge, that I swear. But ’twill be against those guilty and no other.”
“What more proof is needed?”
“A reason, man!” Jamie replied harshly. “I need a reason. You all fought Fergussons in my father’s time. You know they’re no’ a powerful clan. You know we outnumber them two to one, even when they’re joined with the MacAfees. Dugald Fergusson wanted an end to the feud. My own aunt insists the feud never should have begun, so I agreed to peace when there was no retaliation after our last raid two years ago. We’ve no’ raided them since, and they’ve no’ raided us. So can one of you give me a reason for what happened here tonight?”
“A reason? No, but here’s proof.” Ian’s oldest son stepped forward and threw a scrap of plaid at Jamie’s feet. The plaid was several shades of green and gold, with gray stripes.
At that moment a band of thirty men appeared, crofters and their sons who lived close to Castle Kinnion and had been gathered by Jamie’s brother.
“So be it,” Jamie said ominously, slowly grinding the unmistakable Fergusson plaid under his booted foot. “We ride south to Angusshire. No doubt they will be expecting us, but no’ so close on their heels as we will be. We ride now, to arrive at dawn.”
Chapter 2
James MacKinnion moved slowly. An enveloping mist still clung to the dewy ground, and he was sopping wet from crossing the second of the two Esk rivers. He was tired from lack of sleep and the rough ride south. They had had to ride more than a mile out of their way to find a shallow river crossing. All things considered, he was in a foul mood. And he couldn’t squelch his disquiet. There was something wrong in all this, but he didn’t know what it could be.
He was alone, having left his men shrouded in the dawn mist by the river’s edge. Jamie and his brother and Black Gawain had separated in order to survey the area for signs of possible ambush. It was something he always did when a raid was expected, and this one surely was. And it was something he did himself, not as a display of courage, although, being alone, he risked being captured, but because the welfare of his clansmen was his responsibility alone. He would ask no man to do what he wouldnot do himself.
The mist swirled and parted before him in a gentle breeze, revealing for a moment a wooded glen not far ahead. Then the mist settled again, and the vision was gone. Jamie rode for it; the trees were a pleasant change from the barren moors and heather-clad hills.
He had never been this far east on Fergusson land before. He had never raided Lowlanders in the spring before, either. Autumn was the time for raiding, when rivers were broad but shallow, and cattle were fat from summer grazing and prime for market. He had always crossed the river in direct line with Tower Esk, the home of Dugald Fergusson. The swollen water had made that impossible this time. But their delays were short ones, and he was confident they were less than an hour behind the attackers, even though he and his men hadn’t found their trail. He would not give them time to celebrate their victory.
Jamie’s anger warred with his common sense. He wondered about the wisdom of his decision to ride south without further reflection. He had reacted to what facts he had. In truth, he could not have done differently. Dead men demanded he ride to avenge them. A scrap of plaid demanded he ride south. Yet…why? He would have given anything for more evidence. The act bordered on insanity. Was he sure of what he was doing?
Not knowing for sure ate away at him and turned him sour on the task ahead. Dugald Fergusson could not fail to know that Jamie had it within his power to wipe out his whole clan. The MacKinnions could doit alone, and they also had the alliance of two powerful northern clans, through the marriages of Jamie’s two sisters.
More than five hundred men could be raised if needed. Old Dugald must have known that. He had known of the first alliance three years before, and of the second just after Jamie’s father died and Jamie made his first—and last—raid on the Fergussons as the new MacKinnion laird. Dugald had not retaliated after that raid, even though it had cost him twenty head of cattle, seven horses, and nearly one hundred sheep. Dugald knew then he was no match for the MacKinnions, and Jamie knew it, as well.
There was no challenge in carrying on the long-standing feud, so Jamie had let his Aunt Lydia think she had convinced him to end it. It pleased her to think so, and he liked pleasing her. She had always been after him to marry one of Dugald’s four daughters in order to end the feud for good, but he would not go that far. His one marriage had ended so tragically. That was enough for Jamie.
He frowned, thinking how his aunt would react when she learned where he had gone, and of the total destruction his dark side called for. It could very well make her retreat from reality and not return.
Lydia MacKinnion had not been quite right since the MacKinnion-Fergusson feud had begun forty-seven years before. She had witnessed the cause of it—though she had never told what she saw, or said why Niall Fergusson, Dugald’s father, had killed both of Jamie’s grandparents, starting a vicious warthat lasted ten years and wiped out half the men of both clans before it settled down to periodic raids that were solely for the lifting of livestock, a practice as common in the Highlands as breathing.
Perhaps Niall Fergusson had been insane. Perhaps insanity ran in their family and Dugald was insane. That was possible. And an insane man must be forgiven, maybe even tolerated. After all, wasn’t his aunt just a little bit insane herself?
A calm settled over Jamie as he came to this conclusion. He could not punish a whole clan for the acts of a madman. His terrible upset about the whole affair was eased then. He would retaliate in kind, but not destroy them all.
The mist was rising steadily as Jamie entered the wooded glen. He saw that he could pass through it in a matter of minutes, the span of trees being no more than a hundred yards. He had ridden only about half a mile away from his men, but with no croft in sight he was beginning to wonder if he was even on Fergusson land, if they hadn’t miscalculated and ridden too far downriver when they sought their crossing.
Then he heard a sound, and in a flash he slid off his horse and ran for cover. But when he listened again, he recognized the sound as a giggle, a feminine giggle.
