Page 46 of The Return of the Heir

At the lady’s words, the fear clutching Gwendolyn subsided. Once again, the Grey Lady, sensing her distress, had come to her aid. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Gwendolyn allowed herself a small smile. “The Grey Lady was with my siblings and me while we were imprisoned in the tower. She knows what I say is the truth.”

Garrick MacDonald is as vile a man as there ever was. He not only kidnapped Gwendolyn, but he also falsified her death, then forced her to steal the Fairy Flag. I watched him as he handed the Fairy Flag over to his kin along the shore of Loch Dunvegan under the cloak of darkness. For five years he has terrorised this castle with one mishap or another, destroyed the happiness of a young couple on their wedding day, and might be responsible for the death of Arabella Harris if her health does not improve.

The Grey Lady’s voice boomed inside their minds, leaving the men with their mouths slack and eyes wide. When she had finished speaking, the grey mist shifted to a bright white. The light lifted towards the ceiling, then disappeared as quickly as it had come.

“We are supposed to take the word of a ghost as the truth?” Laird MacDonald was the first to recover from the Grey Lady’s presence and disappearance.

“Why would a spirit lie about such things?” Laird Nicolson left the shelter of his chair and stood beside the table. “She has nothing in this life to lose, but perhaps she still has something to protect.”

The lairds MacQueen, Nicolson, MacKinnon, and MacAskill exchanged glances before turning their narrowed gazes on Alexander MacDonald. Laird MacKinnon stepped forward. “A ghost has no reason to lie, but you on the other hand have much to gain from causing distrust and disorder amongst the clans on the isles and on the mainland.”

Laird MacAskill’s gaze shifted to Beatrice who was just now regaining her senses. Her father helped her from the floor and into her chair. Then his gaze shifted to Laird MacDonald. “You were the one to push for Laird MacLeod to be wed before he took his role as a guardian on the council, claiming ‘by having a wife it would temper his need for war.’”

MacAskill’s dark gaze narrowed on the man before him. “It was you who put forth Beatrice Lamont as a potential bride. You are allied with the Lamont clan, are you not?”

“We are all allied with many mainland clans.” MacDonald’s lips set grimly. “What are you implying?”

“That you sent a spy into Dunvegan under the pretext of marriage.” Laird MacAskill’s face reddened.

Alastair bolted out of his chair. He had his hand wrapped around the MacDonald’s neck, effortlessly raising the man out of his chair until he drove him back, slamming him hard against the wall. “Your clan nearly destroyed my fiancée and her family, you stole the Fairy Flag, and now you dare to place a spy in our midst?”

“I. . .did. . .none of. . .those things,” the MacDonald choked out as his face reddened.

“Can you say as much for your clan?”

“Nay.”

Laird Nicholson came forward. “Let him go, Alastair. This kind of violence isn’t helping anyone’s cause.”

At a blazing glance from Alastair, Laird Nicolson backed away. Returning his attention to the man caught in his grasp, Alastair said, “Return the Fairy Flag to the MacLeods and this council might be able to move forward in talking about peace.”

The Fairy Flag had never brought his family much luck, but he knew its magical influence when unfurled in battle to be true especially when they’d used it against the MacDonald clan in 1490. During a desperate battle between the two clans, the flag was unfurled and immediately the tide of the battle turned. Then again in 1520 at Waternish, the MacLeods were hopelessly outnumbered when the MacDonalds and clan Ranald joined forces against them. The flag was unfurled and the MacDonalds were defeated.

“I shall. . .consider it,” the MacDonald leader choked out, his face turning purple.

Alastair loosened his grip slightly, allowing the man to draw a breath. “This is also your last warning not to meddle in my affairs or with anyone in this house and under my protection,” he said in a lethal voice as he stood eye to eye with the MacDonald. “If you do, I will not hesitate to kill you, regardless of my desire for peace amongst the clans. Am I clear?”

The MacDonald’s gaze was murderous, but he managed to mumble something that sounded like assent.

“See that you remember that promise.” Alastair released his hold on the man’s neck and the laird collapsed to the floor, choking. Alastair’s gaze slid to Beatrice. Her face held a look of innocence, or feigned innocence. He did not have the time right now to determine which. But she and he would have a serious discussion before the night was through.

Alastair shifted his attention back to the lairds as the chamber erupted in a cacophony of sound. The lairds shouted at one another, hurling past accusations for injustices done to them by the clans who were present and those who were not.

Gwendolyn blocked out the noise. Instead, her gaze shifted to Beatrice. After the accusation made by Laird MacAskill, another had occurred to Gwendolyn: Was Beatrice responsible for freeing Garrick MacDonald? Their gazes connected. Instead of paling as someone who had just fainted at the sight of a ghost might suggest she would, a bloom of colour came to Beatrice’s cheeks and her lips lifted in a faint smile. A challenge reflected there.

Gwendolyn drew a sharp breath. What these men accused Beatrice of was true. She had betrothed herself to Alastair to become a spy for the MacDonalds; it wasn’t a stretch to imagine she had disguised herself and dosed the guards in the dungeon with laudanum in order to set Garrick free. At first fear crept in, leaving a sour taste in Gwendolyn’s mouth. Then anger took over. While the MacLeods had their failings, they had also been nothing but kind to her and her siblings. No one took advantage of Alastair MacLeod or his kin if she could do something about it. While she couldn’t fight in the more conventional ways, she had one weapon in her arsenal that Beatrice and her father had not known about.

She was still legally betrothed to Alastair.

Gwendolyn might have earlier considered ending her relationship with Alastair, but now she had a reason to at least pretend to fight for what they’d once had as long as it protected him from the MacDonalds and their allies.

Beatrice’s gaze connected with Gwendolyn’s. Neither woman turned away. A war was coming. It might not be the war Alastair had expected. But a battle had begun right here in this chamber to win the heart of a man who deserved more than trickery and manipulation from those who lived within his castle’s walls.