Page 17 of Highland Storm

“I’ll sneak into their castle, by myself, and break grandda out of the dungeon.”

“Ye’re addlepated!” spat Caleb. “Ye’ll be killed before ye set a foot anywhere near the dungeon.”

“I say we make an alliance, just like we were plannin’ to do before this happened,” said Storm.

“What kind of alliance?” asked Logan.

“Hawke will marry MacNab’s daughter, Phoebe. Then, we’ll go to the castle and demand they return Ian.”

“Or what?” asked Hawke, throwing his hands in the air. “It’ll never work. Phoebe’s own clansmen left her behind, so I doubt she’s of any value to them. Besides, I’m no’ gettin’ married to anyone right now.”

“What if they willna release the prisoner even after the marriage?” asked Ethan. “Then what guid will that have done? We canna kill off Hawke’s wife.”

“That’s right. I’m sure Hawke doesna want to lose two wives,” said Logan.

Hawke grunted, not wanting to think about the last time he’d married for the sake of an alliance when everything went wrong. He was framed by the MacNabs for the death of Osla but couldn’t prove it. Still, he felt responsible. If he hadn’t left her alone during the hunt, she might still be alive today. He felt hesitant to put himself in the same situation again, but he had no choice. There was nothing else they could do to save his grandfather before the bloody MacNabs tortured him. The man was getting older and his health had been getting worse these past few years. Hawke couldn’t let him die without trying to save him.

“I’d rather no’ talk about losin’ wives,” said Hawke, looking at his wound and touching it gently. He was still bleeding, even with his stitches.

“Hawke, ye need to rest,” said Storm. “I’ll send Orrick up to look at yer wound. Everyone else, meet me in the stable. We have four dead clan members to bring back and bury, and I willna let them lie there and rot while the ravens peck out their eyes.”

“Aye,” agreed the Madmen MacKeefe, heading for the door.

“What are we goin’ to do about our chieftain?” asked Caleb, speaking of Hawke’s grandfather.

Storm stopped pacing and stared out the window. “If we have to stay up all night devisin’ a plan, then we’ll do it. But, I swear I willna let the MacNabs best us, or take my faither’s life.”

Chapter 7

After washing up and changing her clothes, Phoebe ran a boar’s bristle brush through her hair. A servant girl wrung out a rag in the basin of water across the room and Lady Clarista was next to the bed.

“Thank ye, Lady Clarista, for lendin’ me one of yer gowns,” said Phoebe. Hermitage Castle was a square fortress and much smaller than Crookston Castle. Still, it was a sturdy stronghold and well kept. The solar room she now occupied was Lady Clarista’s. It was decorated in a grand manner with colorful, woven tapestries filling the walls. A large bed was raised up on a pedestal. The mattress looked thick and was covered with a burgundy blanket that was embroidered with small colorful flowers.

“I know it’s a little too big for you, dear, but it’s better than wearing a gown soaked in blood,” answered Clarista, putting Phoebe’s dirty clothes in a pile and handing them to the maidservant. Phoebe felt odd wearing the green, purple and brown plaid of the MacKeefes, but she had no other choice. She only hoped to don her own clan colors of red and black before she met up with the MacNabs again.

“I’m sorry about yer husband,” said Phoebe, feeling bad for the woman that her husband was now a prisoner, the same as she.

Clarista raised her head and pushed back a gray lock of hair. “At least my husband is still alive, as far as we know. Some of the clanswomen were not so lucky today with the fate of their husbands. The widows are going to have a hard time raising their children on their own.”

“I ken.” Phoebe played with the brush, no longer able to look into Clarista’s eyes. She felt really bad about what happened. “I tried to stop my clan from attackin’ but they wouldna listen. If my faither had been here, things would have been different.”

Clarista silently nodded to the maidservant, dismissing her. After the girl left the room with Phoebe’s dirty clothes, Clarista closed the door and slowly turned around.

“It is all the horrible reality of war,” she told Phoebe. “Every wife fears for the life of her husband every single day. No one wants to lose a loved one, let alone see their bloody, broken bodies lying at their feet.”

A shiver ran through Phoebe as she thought of the MacNabs as well as the MacKeefes that she saw killed today. She, as well as the other women of her clan, was often sent in after a battle to go through the pockets of the dead. Phoebe never liked doing this, and it was even worse now because she’d witnessed the men being slayed. It really bothered her and it made her wonder about warriors like Hawke. Did he feel upset by it, too?

“Ye seem so calm, Lady Clarista,” said Phoebe in admiration. “If it were my husband who had been killed or captured, I would be frantic right now.”

“I’ve lived through a lot of hard times, Phoebe, and you will, too. Have you ever been married?”

“Nay, my lady,” she told the Englishwoman. “I have never even been kissed by a man before today.” When she realized just what she said, her eyes darted upward and her mouth dropped open. “I mean . . . what I mean is –”

Lady Clarista smiled. “So my grandson kissed you, did he?”

“I didna say that,” Phoebe blurted out, wishing now she wouldn’t have revealed so much.

“Hawke tends to always want what he cannot have.” Clarista walked over and started to braid Phoebe’s hair.