Chapter 19

The house was an old one, a large structure that had once belonged to a village head man, until the nearest water rill had turned the area into a bog. Everyone had moved to more viable farming ground, save for the peat harvesters, and in that season for they were not particularly active.

Evander had almost forgotten the structure existed, but once he and Laird MacPherson had identified the path May’s kidnapper had taken, he’d remembered. The abandoned house was sturdy enough to have withstood the test of time, and the perfect place for a captive to be held. He cursed himself for not recalling and investigating it sooner.

He’d have to answer for his oversight later. For now he, Laird MacPherson, and a small number of their men were camped outside, waiting for Scot MacDonell to leave the premises with his guards, so they could rescue May.

Evander wanted to charge into the house and take May back, but he’d no illusions that Scot wouldn’t slit her throat rather than permit her to be rescued. A man vindictive enough to hold a feud for ten years and kidnap May to force a marriage truce was the sort to kill her rather than let anyone else have her. It wasn’t a matter of love, just spite, but Evander knew Scot MacDonell’s cruelty was dangerous all the same.

That was why they were waiting. If they could rescue May when Scot was gone, they’d be able to see her safely home, while a contingent of soldiers stayed behind to arrange an ambush when MacDonell returned. Killian had stayed behind to coordinate the defense and gather soldiers to rescue them, if they hadn’t returned within half a day, or sent a message to assure him they were well. He would also be the one to inform Bran and the Mackintosh soldiers where to go.

It was a good plan, but it galled Evander to be stuck waiting, when he longed with every fiber of his being to race into the building and rescue his love.

The door to the house opened. Evander tensed as Scot MacDonell appeared in the doorway. Then he saw who Scot was dragging behind him, and his heart sank like a rock. May.

She was mussed and bruised, though her expression was still fierce. It was clear that Scot hadn’t broken her spirit, though he’d clearly bound her arms, and he had a firm grip on her upper arm.

Evander turned to Laird MacPherson. “We cannae wait.”

“Ye’re right.” The older laird made a motion with his hand. Evander drew his sword, and a dirk for his off hand.

Something, perhaps the faint ringing of steel in the stillness of the air, alerted Scot. He spun, hand going to his sword.

Evander launched himself forward with a roar, hoping to startle Scot into releasing May so she could be taken to safety. “MacDonell!”

His plan worked. The MacDonell laird released May to meet Evander’s blade with his own. However, the shout also caused cries of alarm, and the next second, a dozen MacDonell soldiers were pouring out of the building and the surrounding area. Evander would have been overwhelmed within seconds, if Laird MacPherson and his men hadn’t charged up to join him immediately.

Chaos erupted as battle was joined. Men were shouting, blades ringing against each other, accompanied by the meaty thwack as blades hit home against flesh. The scent of blood and iron filled the air, along with the occasional scream. Evander’s focus narrowed to his blades, his enemies, and his frantic effort to keep May safe amid the madness of the fighting.

He spotted Laird MacPherson holding his own. He needed to get May to her father. Or to the edge of battle farthest from the house, so she could try to escape. He also needed to get her hands free, but he couldn’t spare the time or focus to cut the ropes, or even release his dirk long enough to pass her one of the smaller knives he carried.

He’d lost track of Scot MacDonell in the wild mayhem that accompanied the arrival of the warriors of each clan. He didn’t have enough energy to spare looking for the man and could only hope that he had fled when he realized he was under attack.

Another warrior engaged with him, and he exchanged blows with the man, before leaving his dirk buried in the man’s gut, notched into his ribs. The warrior fell with a gurgling cry. Evander started to turn, to offer May a blade to free herself.

Then a blade touched his throat, and a voice hissed in his ear. “Drop yer blade and stand still, or I’ll slit yer throat here and now, Mackintosh.”

Evander cursed, even as he obeyed. He didn’t need to see May’s stricken look to know that somehow, Scot MacDonell had managed to get the drop on him. He’d been so focused on keeping May safe and trying to get her away that he hadn’t seen MacDonell’s approach.

“Enough!” Silence fell at MacDonell’s shout. “Put down yer weapons, MacPherson, or ye’ll tell Laird Mackintosh his brother’s dead because o’ ye!”

Evander wanted to shout a refusal, but the blade at his throat and May’s pleading look made him hold his tongue.

Seconds later, blades clattered to the ground as Laird MacPherson signaled his men to disarm. The remaining MacDonell soldiers surrounded them in a loose circle. The Laird MacPherson spoke. “What is it ye want?”

“Yer daughter as me bride, and yer word that the inheritance will pass tae me.”

May stepped forward, and Evander felt his heart sink, knowing what she was going to say. “Me laird I’ll wed ye. I’ll wed ye willing. Just let Evander go. Please... I promise, I willnae fight ye…”

“May, stop…” Evander choked out the words, then winced as the knife point dug in. Blood trickled down his neck, and he forced himself to still, waiting for his chance.

He wanted to fight, to protest. But he couldn’t do anything if Scot slit his throat.

Laird MacPherson stepped forward, pacing toward Scot with empty hands. He looked old and tired as he came to stand before the other laird. “I willnae bargain the lives and futures o’ me children, nor Evander Mackintosh with ye, nae when I ken what ye really want.” He stepped closer, his head held high. “Let Evander Mackintosh go, and ye can claim the prize ye truly want – me head. Me life, or me knees in the dirt, whichever ye will. ‘Tis only fair, since the feud started because o’ me.”

May cried out. “Faither, nae! Why would ye offer such a thing?”

Connor MacPherson turned to his daughter, and his expression was full of sorrow and guilt. “Because all o’ this started when I turned aside the hand o’ me childhood friend, and walked away from him.”

The world felt like it was tilting sideways, and May felt her heart thudding in her ears as she struggled to process what she’d heard. “What?”

Her father sighed. “I’ve never told ye the whole story. The feud started with me and the previous laird, when we were young. Ye see, Scot’s faither and I were friends, from the time we were wee bairns, barely toddling about the moors. And friends we remained, until we were in our teen years. Then he began tae change, or perhaps I only began tae see what he had been all along. He turned hard and cruel, greedy and cold. And after a time, I could nae longer stand his company. I turned away from our friendship.”

His eyes were filled with regret. “Mayhap I could have turned him back tae better behavior, but I didnae try. It angered him, but even so, when we both became lairds, he offered me his hand in truce and alliance. I refused him, and ‘twas then he swore tae see me fallen, broken for the offense tae his pride. The feud began that day, and has continued since.”

“But…” Words failed her as her father shook his head.

“’Tis all right. If it will ensure yer braither and ye are safe and happy, then me life is a small price tae pay. Killian is well able tae lead the clan, and I ken that he’ll take good care o’ ye, as will yer husband, when ye wed.”

She didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered to Evander. Then her father faced Scot MacDonell once again. “Well? Will ye accept me bargain? Me life, for the safety and freedom o’ me daughter, me son, and Evander Mackintosh?”

Scot laughed, the sound cold and grating against her ears. With one swift move, he struck Evander, sending him to his knees with a groan. “Aye. I’ll take yer bargain, and yer head.” He stepped forward and raised his sword.

Her father stood there, hands empty, head held high as he faced his executioner. May wanted to do something, but her hands were still bound, and she had no idea what she could do. Tears fell down her face as Scot’s sword rose, a low moan of grief rising in her throat.

The sword began to fall. As it did so, Evander moved. Somehow, he spun around on his knees, foot lashing out to catch Scot MacDonell’s knee with a sickening crack. Scot staggered with a scream of pain, his stroke going wide.

At that instant, men in unfamiliar colors erupted from the shadows. The remaining MacDonell soldiers were taken by surprise, cut down in seconds.

Evander continued his movement and bounded to his feet, somehow grabbing his sword in the same motion. He came up off the ground and into Scot MacDonell while the laird was still trying to regain his balance.

May was aware of the new arrivals spreading out to help the MacPherson Clan warriors. She was also aware of her father moving closer to her, cutting the ropes around her wrists. But all of that was secondary to her awareness of Evander.

Scot managed to block his first blow. The MacDonell laird was limping heavily, where Evander looked slightly dazed from the blow he’d taken to the back of the head. Their blades clashed again, then again, a dance of steel and violence that made May’s heart leap into her throat.

Then Scot faltered, and Evander seized his chance. His sword slipped past Scot’s guard, and into his heart. The MacDonell laird fell, a look of spite and anger still stamped on his features.

Evander stood, his chest heaving, before he looked up. Unlike May, he seemed to recognize the tartan the newest arrivals were wearing. “Enna?”

May startled as the woman emerged from the shadows, smiling. “Evander.” She glanced at the body of Scot MacDonell. “Well done.”

Evander stared at her in surprise. “What are ye doing here?”

“I heard ye speaking with Laird MacPherson and his son about May being kidnapped and yer plan tae track her and rescue her. I thought ye might need assistance, and as I was traveling this way on my return home, I decided tae make sure ye were well.” She raised an eyebrow. “And ‘tis well I did.”

“It is. But I thought ye were staying in MacPherson Keep fer taenight.”

“And so I was planning tae, but what is there fer me tae stay? I considered the matter, and decided ‘twas best tae explain the matter tae me kinfolk in person. And so I’m going home.”

She stepped lightly past Evander, to take May’s hand. “I dae hope ye’ll invite me tae the wedding, fer I like ye well, May MacPherson, despite everything. But whether ye dae or nae, take good care o’ Evander. He’s a good man.”

She turned back to her once-betrothed. “Be well, Evander. And dinnae forget tae add a special mark fer this one.” She eyed Scot MacDonell. “I bid ye both farewell, and every happiness.”

Before May could say anything, even offer her thanks, Enna turned and vanished back into the night, taking her men with her.

Evander and May exchanged a look. Then Evander sheathed his blade and came back to May’s side. His arm went around her waist as he faced her father. “Laird MacPherson, I would have preferred tae ask ye this in a more formal setting, but I cannae wait.” He took a deep breath. “May I have yer permission tae court May, and ask fer her hand in marriage?”

May felt her heart leap as her father nodded with a knowing smile. “Aye.”

Evander released her, and turned to face her. “May MacPherson, will ye dae me the honor o’ accepting me suit and becoming me wife?”

May smiled through her tears and her bruises, and gave him the only answer she could.

“It was all I’ve been waiting fer, fer the past ten years.”