Page 62 of The Return of the Heir

Marcus’s gaze fixed soberly on Alastair’s face. “I am already lost. The moment I set eyes on Rowena, I knew the course of my destiny. I am a man with no clan.”

So far, Marcus’s words had proven true. He had helped Gwendolyn reclaim the Fairy Flag, and for today’s conflict he had not worn his clan tartan. Instead he’d chosen black breeches and a black muslin shirt. With his dark hair and dark eyes, he looked the part of a rogue warrior, beholden to none. Which was why Alastair had positioned him next to both him and Graeme. The two of them would keep an eye on him—to keep him safe as Rowena had begged and to keep him from turning on them at some unexpected moment.

Alastair turned his thoughts back to the battlefield when the thundering sound of horses filled the air. He tensed and drew his sword. A quick glance at the MacDonalds confirmed that they held their position below. It was then that the sound coalesced, and Alastair realised it came from behind his men. “Hold the line,” he barked at Graeme as he kicked his horse into motion, moving out and down the line of his warriors to see what was coming their way. Had the MacDonald set a trap? Did they mean to attack from both sides?

Alastair’s heart thundered in his chest as he came around the back of his men to see a hundred men on horses advancing towards him. “Half of you, about-turn,” he ordered his men, splitting his unit into half facing forward, half facing back.

Instead of attacking, the riders coming at them slowed their approach until Alastair could see two familiar faces at the front of the others.

Could it be?Alastair could hardly believe the sight before him as he released the iron grip on his sword and returned the blade to its scabbard.

Tormod and Orrick?His brothers had come to fight?

They pulled their horses to a stop before him. “We heard you were having a battle with the MacDonalds,” Orrick, the youngest of the three triplets, said with a note of seriousness in his tone.

“And you didn’t invite us to the party,” Tormod quipped.

Alastair tried to hold back a smile and failed. Nothing had changed with his brothers in the five years they’d been apart. One still took the world too seriously, the other not seriously enough. “How did you know we were going to war?”

“Word travels fast in these parts when the great MacLeod is off to punish his enemies.” Tormod’s eager smile made him appear to Alastair as though he were twelve years old again and battling over who could convince Mrs Honey to give them a sweet treat.

Orrick frowned at his brother. “We heard nothing of war until we arrived at Dunvegan. We came because we learned Gwendolyn Harris had been found. Is it true?”

“Aye,” Alastair acknowledged. “She was kidnapped and held hostage by the MacDonalds in our own castle. They also sent a spy into our midst disguised as my newest betrothed, and turned one of our own against us, hence the reason we go to war.”

Orrick and Tormod shared a wide-eyed look before Tormod turned back to his brother. “Sounds like there is more to all of that, but it can wait until we are finished here.”

“What would you have us do, Brother?” Orrick asked.

“Have your men join the ranks, and prepare yourselves for battle. The two of you, come to the front with me. Let the MacDonalds see that the three of us are a force to be reckoned with.”

“Our first big battle together,” Tormod said as they rode to the front. “How exciting.”

Orrick frowned. “I can think of better ways to spend our time.”

Tormod rolled his eyes. “Your books are waiting for you back at Dunvegan.”

At the front, the two brothers greeted Graeme. “This is Marcus MacDonald.” Alastair tilted his head towards the young man in black.

“A MacDonald fights for us?” Tormod asked in a leery voice.

“’Tis a long story. One we will discuss later.”

Orrick’s frowned deepened. “How many stories can there be? You’ve only been back at Dunvegan for four days?”

“Too many,” Alastair and Graeme said in unison.

Alastair drew a breath he hoped would settle him as he turned his thoughts and his gaze back to the battlefield. He still hoped this would not become an all-out war. “I’m going to meet with the MacDonald one last time.”

He would ride halfway between the two battalions and try to negotiate peace. Peace amongst the clans was the only way they would be able to outmaneuver the English when that moment finally came. . .and it was coming faster than any of them wanted to acknowledge. With a nod at Graeme, Alastair made his way down the hill as the MacDonald came forward.

“We do not have to fight this out,” Alastair said when they met, mounted horse to mounted horse. “The MacLeods have three men to your one.”

“The numbers do not matter. The MacDonald fighting spirit will carry the day.”

Alastair was not so sure of that. Since his return he had trained the MacLeod men to use many new battle techniques. They were also well-armed with targes, swords, and the pistols Graeme had secured. And the Fairy Flag was once again in their possession. “I am willing to let bygones be bygones if you promise never to place spies in my castle or steal the Fairy Flag from us again.”

At the mention of the Fairy Flag, Alexander MacDonald startled and his gaze searched the men before him until it rested on Graeme and the standard pole he held in his hands. “I should have known your little foray here last night was more than simply a tactic to capture Garrick or to punish me, however temporarily.”