Chapter Four

Rosalyn disappeared from his view, but his thoughts continued to centre on her. He had done all he could for Rosalyn until they knew more about why she had been attacked. But if her own people had run her through with a sword, her future in England did not look promising.

The thought of her in despair, as she had been in the woods, pained him. He knew nothing about Rosalyn except that she had been abandoned by her people and was now alone in this world. He knew that feeling well. Even though he’d been under a spell during his time with the fairies, he had always known he did not belong.

Keiran wiped his forehead, feeling the grit of the dust that had settled on his skin. He clenched his jaw, suppressing the urge to go after her and assure himself she was well. He had healed her abdomen, but had he missed some other injury that could put her in danger? He balled his fists, resisting the urge. God’s blood. What was wrong with him? She was betrothed to another. Even so, he’d never had this kind of reaction, this connection, to anyone before.

He stared off into the darkness as the men around him dismounted and turned their horses over to the stable hands. He took a deep breath and unfurled his fingers. He had to stay focused on the threat to the MacLeods and all the clans on the isle. The English soldiers had shown Rosalyn’s travelling party no mercy. He doubted they would be any less harsh with the Scots.

“Come,” Tormod said, breaking into his thoughts. “Alastair wishes us to join him in the great hall. No doubt to discuss our response to the information you brought home.”

Orrick appeared on the other side of Keiran and frowned. “Are you certain you are unharmed? You are much changed from when you left this morning.”

Tormod smiled. “Forgive me for saying it, but you appear less... lost.”

Keiran scowled at his older brothers. “The woman was in trouble. What else was I to do? Leave her to die?”

Tormod chuckled and clapped Keiran on the shoulder. “All I said was that your countenance had changed. I said nothing about the girl.”

“Do not pay him heed, Keiran,” Orrick said. “Of course, you are changed. You have been through an ordeal. I was simply asking if you had taken any blows we should be aware of.”

“I am more concerned about the English attacking the MacLeods than I am my own physical state,” Keiran replied.

“The walls of Dunvegan will protect us,” Orrick assured him as they made their way inside the castle and up the stairs.

“They haven’t always,” Tormod reminded his brother as they moved down the hallway and to the great hall. “We must be prepared for anything.”

Graeme, the captain of the guard, and Callum, their youngest brother, had joined Alastair at a table. Alastair spread out the parchment Keiran had brought before him, studying it silently. The pause gave Keiran a chance to study Callum as he sat across the table from the young man.

As if sensing Keiran’s exploration, Callum lifted his eyes—eyes filled with wisdom and sorrow—before shifting his attention back to Alastair. Not for the first time did Keiran wonder what had happened to the young man in the last nine years. Had he had the childhood that Keiran had missed? Or, even here in the human realm, had Callum been forced to grow up quickly in the absence of their mother and father?

Keiran was stopped from further ruminations as Alastair passed the missive to Tormod. “It appears several English regiments have moved north. I’m anticipating more will follow in the days ahead.”

“That cannot be good for the clans,” Orrick said.

Alastair nodded grimly. “I have heard rumours, and the English must have as well, that with war raging across the continent, the French are open to supplying James Stuart and his son, Charles, with financing, soldiers, and ships for another advance into Scotland.”

“The English must believe those rumours to be true,” Graeme noted with a deep frown.

Alastair’s gaze shifted to Keiran. “It was a risk, meeting up with the Nicolsons, but the reports they passed on are too important to trust to regular couriers. I’m concerned that the English army knows too much information about the Scottish clans and our business. We are going to have to try to stay ahead of their flow of information by obtaining our own, and trying to cut off whatever and whoever is supplying them with theirs.”

“I would go back to Struan if you need me to do so,” Keiran offered. It would be best for him to go, and alone, for if he was set upon, at least he could heal himself, keeping the rest of the MacLeods safe.

Tormod leaned his arms on the table and gazed intensely at Keiran. “Tell us what happened outside of Struan? The woman you brought home should have been dead, judging by the amount of blood on her clothing. How is she still alive?”

Keiran had expected such a question. “It was not her blood, but that of her assailant after I ran him through with my sword,” he lied, holding Tormod’s gaze and forcing away the remorse he felt at doing so.

To Alastair, Tormod asked, “What do you think ought to be done with the woman?”

“She stays here,” Keiran interrupted. “We need to discover why she was attacked when she was on her way to meet her betrothed.”

Tormod’s brows rose. “And by English soldiers. Do you not find that curious?”

“Of course, I am curious as to why. Only once we have answers from the man I captured can we know how to proceed with the woman.”

Tormod frowned. “If she was to meet her betrothed, she will be missed. Someone will no doubt come looking for her.”

“I suspect so,” Keiran agreed. “We must stay ahead of the English.” He pushed his chair back and stood. “Shall we go abovestairs and question the surviving soldier?”

Tormod stood. “Aye. What will you do with the soldier after he tells you what you need to know?”

“As long as he remains useful, we should keep him here at Dunvegan,” Keiran replied.

Orrick pushed back his chair but did not rise. “After that, Isolde and I can take him to Dunshee Castle and reunite him with his brethren there.”

“You have English prisoners at Dunshee?” Keiran frowned. He still had so much to learn about his family and their secrets.

Orrick nodded. “We have detained what remains of a regiment that attacked Dunvegan several months ago. They are treated fairly and are not confined to the dungeon as the English would have done to us if we were captured.”

An uneasy feeling settled in Keiran’s gut. “Do the English know about their location?”

“No one but those of us in this chamber know that secret,” Orrick replied. “The English most likely assumed they died along with the others at Caisteal an Bháis.”

“Rosalyn can never learn about this,” Keiran said in a grim tone. “Or we will all be in far more danger than we are now.”

Tormod’s gaze narrowed. “She is our enemy.”

“We do not know that for certain, but we should be cautious until we know more about her.” Keiran was suddenly eager to do just that, to learn more about the woman he had brought back to his home, to his family. If anything happened to them because of a softness he allowed himself to feel for this woman, he would never forgive himself.

“What do you think we will discover? That she is a spy?” Tormod asked.

Keiran headed for the stairs with Tormod following close behind. “I am almost positive she was merely at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“With a company of men?”

Keiran blew out a breath. “We will not know for certain until we talk to the English soldier.” Determined to know why Rosalyn had been attacked and hoping she was an innocent in all of this, Keiran took the stairs two at a time, marvelling he could do so. He’d never felt the need for haste in Fairyland. With the same efficiency, he moved down the hallway until he stood outside their prisoner’s chamber door. The portal was open, and Lottie had just finished winding a bandage about the man’s head where he had been nicked by a blade. Keiran stepped inside, startling the woman and the two guards who had been placed inside the chamber.

“I have completed my examination,” the healer said, returning her gaze to her patient.

“Your verdict as to his health?” Keiran studied the Englishman whose arms were tied to the bedposts. His angry glare cut through the distance between them.

“He is very fortunate. There is a fresh scar on his upper thigh that should have left him unable to walk. It appears mostly healed, and there is another puncture through his ribs, as well as a wound into his liver that should have killed him. Yet he is still alive, and his wounds are...” The colour drained from her face. “’Tis as if his wounds are healing themselves.”

Keiran nodded and moved past the healer towards the bed. “Would you please find and check on Rosalyn now?”

The healer gathered her bag of herbs and poultices and left the chamber.

“You did not seem surprised by Lottie’s assessment,” Tormod commented as he came around the opposite side of the bed where their prisoner lay.

Keiran ignored the comment and instead focused his attention on the man tied to the bed. He arranged his features not with anger, but with determination and strength as Oberon had taught him. In a stern voice he said, “You will tell us what we want to know, or this will not end well for you.”

The soldier turned his head away from Keiran, but at the sight of Tormod’s angry glare, he shifted back to Keiran. “I have nothing to say.”

“Why did you and your men attack Rosalyn de Clare’s travelling party?” Keiran kept his voice calm though he was anything but inside. He wanted answers now.

The man pressed his lips together and stared into the distance.

A tic started in Keiran’s jaw. They did not have time to wait for the man to be compliant. As Tormod mentioned earlier, there could be an angry bridegroom out there hunting for Rosalyn. “I’ll have answers from you one way or another.”

The man closed his eyes.

“Looks like we’ll have to torture him for answers,” Tormod said, his voice filled with regret.

“Nay. Not in the traditional way at least. Guards, Tormod, would you leave us alone for a few moments?”

The guards nodded and headed out the door though Tormod remained. “I am not going anywhere.”

“Very well. If you are to stay, then make yourself useful and blindfold him.” Keiran held out a piece of cloth to his brother.

Tormod tied the blindfold then stepped back. “Now what?”

Having no choice but to proceed in front of his brother, Keiran brought his hand to lie on the man’s chest.

At the touch from his enemy, the soldier’s body stiffened. “What are you doing?”

Ignoring the prisoner and Tormod’s presence, Keiran gathered a measure of heat inside himself and sent it into the man’s chest like a brief bolt of lightning before pulling his hand back. He wanted to frighten the man, not kill him.

The soldier arched his back and howled in pain. When he settled against the bed once more his face was ashen, and his body trembled. “What was that?”

“Aye,” Tormod asked, looking at his brother as if he was someone unknown to him. “I thought you said nay to torture.”

“’Tis a little trick I learned from the fairies and is harmless,” Keiran said flatly. “Tell us what we want to know, or I will be forced to do that again.”

The soldier shook his head. “I’ll tell you if you promise not to murder me when I do.”

“Your life is safe with us. We promise.” Keiran clutched his hands, fighting a wave of dizziness that came over him. He was grateful not to have to deliver another shock to receive the cooperation they needed. He still had not recovered fully from healing both Rosalyn and this man earlier. Keiran pulled the blindfold from the man’s eyes.

At Tormod’s nod in concurrence, the man said, “We were ordered to kill the woman and her men.”

“Ordered by whom?” Keiran pressed.

The man paused and looked away from Keiran. “Lieutenant James Long.”

Keiran closed his eyes for a moment. Agony rocked him as he absorbed the soldier’s words. Opening them, he said in a rough whisper, “Rosalyn’s betrothed ordered you to kill her?”

The man nodded.

“Have you any idea why?” Keiran asked.

“The lieutenant agreed to the betrothal under protest. He had no intention of ever marrying the girl. He only wanted to get her brother off his tail. Lieutenant Long said he would rather marry his horse than a coarse, unsophisticated woman such as Rosalyn de Clare.”

Keiran knit his brow. “Why does he think her uncivilised? She is English, as is he.”

The soldier swallowed roughly. “She is part Scot, therefore a part of her is unacceptable to him.”

“Then he never should have agreed to marry her,” Keiran exploded. “What kind of man would do something like that to be rid of a woman?”

The soldier’s mouth tightened, and he shifted away from Keiran as far as his restraints would allow. “One who will come and slay your entire family without a second thought, especially now that you have taken something that once belonged to him.”

“The MacLeods do not fear Lieutenant James Long or any of the English. We can hold our own against whatever they might have in store for us. You, however, should prepare yourself to be transported on the morrow to be reunited with some of your brethren who also tried to test the MacLeods.”

The soldier paled. “I am to be a prisoner?”

Keiran stood. “You wished to remain unharmed. So now you will join the others we have captured since the English invaded our lands.”

“I’ll stay with our prisoner until you send the guards back into the chamber,” Tormod said.

Keiran stepped from the room, and signalled the guards to return, before heading down the hallway. Should he tell Rosalyn that her betrothed had tried to kill her, or was she better off not knowing? Perhaps if he saw her again, he would be better able to decide if she was a woman who wanted to know the truth or avoid it altogether.

He’d known fairies like that in Fairyland—those who had grasped the illusion of contentment and had ignored reality.

Rosalyn did not strike him as frivolous, but what did he truly know about her except that her skin was soft, her eyes were like amber glowing in the afternoon sun, and that during their brief time together, she had been the only one to break through the barrier of aloofness he had built around himself since his return.

In her presence, he had felt almost human again, a flesh-and-blood man of the earth, for the first time in nine years.