Chapter Twenty-One

"Give yer vow, Grace!" Errol demanded, shouting over the horns blaring all around them outside the castle chapel.

Her heart exploded as her father's men rushed from the chapel to take arms. They were under attack! Hopefully, Arya was long gone with Conall by now.

"Grace! Damn it all. Give yer vows!"

She had to. She knew she did. She didn't doubt her father would hunt Conall down and kill him if she failed to keep her side of the bargain, but her tongue was not working, her mouth was too dry, and her heart was in her throat. She loved Ross. The shock of the truth gripped her, then filled her with warmth, then cold despair. She couldn't wed Errol and love Ross. Maybe he would never return her feelings, but it didn't matter. What she felt for Ross was what she had been waiting for, longing for. It was the tingle in her stomach, the catch in her throat, the joy in her heart. The desire to wake up and go to bed with that person for the rest of her life. It was the hope of the good that would come and the sureness that whatever hardships did come, she believed they could get through them together.

"Grace," he begged, and her heart squeezed for the pain she was causing him. "Grace, I love ye." She knew he did, but for him to go along with her da, forcing her hand to protect her sister's future, made her furious. That was not the sort of love she wanted.

"Behind ye!" Father Dumfries yelled, as he was the only other person left in the chapel.

Grace turned as Errol did, drawing his sword at the same time. It swished through the air and circled around, right as a MacLean warrior came charging into the chapel, sword drawn and bloodlust in his eyes. Grace screamed as Errol shoved her behind him and his sword met the MacLean's. Hands grabbed her, and with a glance back, she realized Father Dumfries was pulling her around the altar. She tried to pull away, thinking to aid Errol, who was already losing the battle, but the priest was much stronger than she was and held her back. Beyond Errol and the MacLean warrior he was battling in the doorway, men filled the shadowy courtyard, swords and weapons clanging.

When a loud grunt came from Errol, she glanced to him once more. He blocked a hit to his left, then was struck from his right, and his legs were kicked out from under him. As he fell, his sword flew from his hand, and his attacker didn't hesitate. He plunged his sword into Errol's stomach. His eyes went wide as he reached for the sword as if to pull it out, but before his fingers grazed the blade, his arms fell back to his sides, and he slumped toward the sword lodged in his gut. She cried out as Errol's head rolled sideways, and he sat still, hunched at an odd angle. Was he dead? Before her mind could process the question, Errol's attacker yanked his blade from Errol's gut. He tilted sideways and lay unmoving. His attacker locked eyes with Grace and started toward her. "Ye'll be coming with me," the man said to her.

"Get behind me, lass," Father Dumfries said.

"Nay, Father," she replied, heart pounding and turning to him. "Release me, so that ye will nae meet with the man's blade."

Father Dumfries hesitated for one moment, but the MacLean warrior said. "I'd listen to the lass, Father. I dunnae have any desire to kill a man of God."

Father Humphries glared at him. "If ye're a man of God, ye'd nae take a lass."

The man offered a vicious smile. "I'm nae a man of God. I'm a MacLean, and for too long, the Lord of the Isles has turned a blind eye and allowed his brother to ravish women. Now that I have killed the vile brother he was protecting, I will take this castle where he ravished my sister and left her for dead, and then I will kill him after he kens that his daughters are in my possession and will get the same treatment."

"Ye're Satan's spawn," Father Humphries spewed.

"Aye," the man said. "Now stand back or I'll send ye to yer maker this day."

Father Humphries did release her then, and the man snatched her by the arm and dragged her past Errol, who lay in a pool of his own blood, his eyes closed. She began to cry. Not out of fear, though she was scared, but for Errol. If he wasn't already dead, he surely would be very soon.

She was tugged into the chaos of the courtyard, and she could see right away that the MacLean warriors far outnumbered her father's. And if she'd had any hope that her father might prevail, it was obliterated by the sight of him on his knees surrounded by MacLean's men and her uncle dead beside him. To her uncle's right, Conall was also on his knees, her sister was mounted in front of a MacLean warrior, who rode off with her as Grace was dragged toward her father.

"Arya!" Grace called out, pulse sprinting and fear making her shiver. Her sister looked back over her shoulder as her name was called again, but this time it came from Conall.

"I will find ye, lass!" he bellowed, and the man holding him knocked him over the head with the hilt of his sword. Conall slumped and dropped to the ground.

"Here's yer daughter, MacDonald, just as I vowed," the man gripping her said as they neared her father.

He looked up at her, and the tears in his eyes ripped at her heart. "Grace, I'm sorry," her father said, his voice low and heavy.

"Ye should be sorry for all the women who were ravished by yer brother," the man snarled.

"MacLean," her father bit out, "ye have won the castle. Let my daughters go!"

"It was nae ever about this castle!" the man roared. With one hand squeezing her arm so painfully that she whimpered, he used his other to point his sword at her father's chest. "It was about my sister. I came to ye. I gave ye the facts, and ye kenned the truth and denied it. My sister took her life, and when I'm done with yer daughters, they will do the same. That is the justice I now seek since ye failed to give me the justice I asked for. Say goodbye, MacDonald."

Despite his treachery, despite what she'd learned, he was her father, and she loved him. "Please," she begged, swords clashing around her and torches burning in the circle. "Please let me hug him goodbye."

A blazing green gaze met hers, and she could see the pain there. "Please," she said again, "it's for me, nae him."

The man released her, and she fell to her knees in front of her father, wrapped her arms around him, and gave him a hug. "Da," she said, as she buried her face against his neck, inhaling the scent that had given her so much comfort throughout the years. "I love ye." And she did. What he had done was too horrible for words, and unforgivable, but he was her father.

"Grace," he choked out, worry dripping from the one word.

"Dunnae fash yerself, Da," she whispered back. "Ross will come for me. I trust him."

"Laird MacLean!" someone yelled from behind her. "Laird, warriors are approaching!"

MacLean yanked her up, gave a shrill whistle that brought a horse galloping to him. He looked to the guard that stood over her father. "Take his head."

"Nay!" Grace shouted as she was thrown on the destrier. MacLean swung up behind her as the guard behind her father drew his sword, but just as the man's arms rose in the air to bring the sword down, an arrow struck him, and he fell backward with a thud. She scanned the area where the arrow had come from, and across the inner courtyard, by the gate, stood Ross, bow raised and another arrow drawn.

"If ye try to leave with my betrothed, I'll shoot ye where ye sit, but I'll nae take yer life. I'll bring ye down, and then I'll carve out yer heart for trying to steal the woman who has mine."

MacLean jerked her to him, and she stared straight ahead, eyes locked with Ross's and gave him a nod to let him know she trusted him. He released his arrow. It sailed through the air and whistled past her so close that the wind tickled her cheek. It lodged just above MacLean's heart, sending the man backward and off the horse, just as Ross said he would. Grace scrambled off the horse and was running toward Ross, as he was racing to her, when the inner courtyard gate banged open and hundreds of mounted men came galloping in.

She collided with Ross, and he picked her up and hugged her to him as she wrapped her arms around his neck. The air and the ground thundered with the vibrations of the horses, and fear spiraled through her. "I love ye," she said, wanting him to know it, fearing they were about to die.

He set her on her feet and pulled away from her so that they were face-to-face. His mouth sealed over hers, and he gave her a hard, desperate kiss. When he broke it, he said, "I love ye, too, lass. Ye stole my trust and much more."

She nodded, tears sliding down her face, and when she glanced over her shoulder to see who had come for them now, her mouth gaped open. There, at the front of a long line, rode the Northern Watch leader, Torquil, surrounded by scores of his warriors. Mixed in with them, she realized, were warriors wearing the king's emblem.

"MacLean, MacDonald," a man beside Torquil said. "We're here in the name of the king. Whoever dunnae obey will be judged treasonous and put to death."

He looked to Torquil, and Torquil said, "Dismount and seize."

The warriors of the Northern Watch and the king's men dismounted and moved forward, taking weapons from the men who had ceased fighting. Grace stood in Ross's protective embrace as Torquil came striding toward them. He paused in front of Grace and nodded to her. "We've yer sister," he said, and Grace slumped into Ross with relief. "She's fine but verra agitated because she believes Conall to be dead," he said, looking beyond her. She turned to follow his gaze to where Conall was staggering to his feet beside her unmoving uncle, and then her eyes collided with her da's, who still stood with his enemies around him. A flood of sadness washed over her at the loss of the man she'd thought her father to be.

"Conall lives as ye can see," she said, twisting to face Torquil once more. "His head will smart, but he lives.

"What is occurring here?" Ross asked as the man who had been mounted beside Torquil approached them, and Grace's father was marched toward them with a guard on either side.

Torquil motioned to the man bearing the king's coat of arms. "This is Lord Frederick, the king's right hand."

Lord Frederick nodded. "What is happening," the man said, looking to her father, "is that the Lord of the Isles has been charged with treason, along with Colin Campbell, and the Earl of Douglas, as well as yer uncle," he said, looking to Ross. The man had obviously been told who Ross was.

"I'm nae a traitor!" her father roared.

Lord Frederick looked at her father with barely concealed disgust. "MacDonald, ye might be interested to ken that the King of England finally met King James's long-standing demand to reveal the names of his countrymen who traitorously signed the Treaty of Westminster." Grace turned to look at her father, and winced at how pale, how guilty he looked. Behind her, Lord Frederick said, "seems yer one-time ally is desperate for good relations with the King of Scotland as England prepares for war with France, so he finally decided to comply with our king's demands." The man spit toward the ground, which Grace knew was a sign of disrespect toward her father. "I dunnae need to tell ye that yer signature was on the treaty."

Grace stiffened at the news as Lord Frederick withdrew a missive from his satchel and unrolled it. "John of Islay, John MacDonald, Earl of Ross, Lord of the Isles, ye are hereby to be held by the king's guards to be delivered to the king, where ye will be held in the dungeon until the time when ye will stand afore Parliament to be handed yer punishment for the crime of treason. As it has been revealed that ye were the one who, in fact, was engaging in treasonous activity, and as Laird Stewart's name was nae signed to the treaty, the king has announced that Laird Stewart—" he looked to Ross—"yer father, be hereafter considered an innocent and honorable man. And Laird Stewart," the right hand said, now addressing Ross, "as we have come to learn that ye, the heir to the lairdship, are alive, ye are hereby granted the title and all rights that go with it: the land, the stronghold, and the warriors loyal to the clan. Make yer way there, claim yer home, and then make yer way to the king to speak with him within two fortnights."

Despite her sadness for her father, elation filled her for Ross.

"Thank ye," he said, his voice thick with emotion. She could not imagine what he must be feeling with all he had discovered. She wished they were alone, so she could speak with him.

"I pray ye find yer siblings, Laird," Lord Frederick said, and with a flick of his hand, he said, "Take the prisoner."

Her father gave her a long look, his shoulders sagged, his head hung low, and he looked utterly defeated. She broke from Ross and went to her father, and with a look to Lord Frederick, who nodded, she gave her father a brief hug. "I kinnae condone what ye did, nor can I forgive it, but in my heart there is love for ye, and I pray ye will repent."

"I did it for—" he started to say, then shook his head. "I will try, Gracie. I will try."

And with that, he was whisked off as tears slid down her face. Ross came to stand by her and drew her to his side. She leaned into him and looked up at him. "I'm sorry," she said, "for what he did to yer family."

Ross kissed her then in front of Torquil and all the other warriors still remaining in the courtyard. "They are nae yer crimes, lass, but yer da's."

"Why did ye save his life?" she asked.

"I told ye I did nae want to take his life. I wanted him to live in misery for what he did, and now he will. He has lost the most valuable thing in the world."

She frowned. "His land? His title?" That was certainly what he'd lost.

"Nay, lass," he said, cupping her by the chin. "Yer trust."