Chapter Three

"Humiliated by the defeat [at Solway Moss], King James died a few weeks later aged just 30, leaving behind a six-day-old daughter, Mary, Queen of Scots."

Historic-UK.com

Rory held Gus's leather lead so he wouldn't wander off to visit all the people arriving at the thatch-roofed stone chapel in the valley south of Dunvegan Castle. Between the near-drowning yesterday and the dog's bath afterward, the poor old boy was tired enough to sit obediently.

"Must ye bring yer shaggy beast to my wedding?" his brother, Jamie, asked. Jamie was the eldest son and the new chief of Clan MacLeod now that their father had joined their mother buried in the family plot. Today, Jamie would wed to form an alliance with their oldest enemy, Clan Macdonald.

"Gus will help keep the Macdonalds in line," Rory said. His gaze narrowed as he watched a light-haired woman in a low-cut yellow ensemble walk up, dabbing at her eyes. Rory leaned closer to Jamie. "Must ye bring yer mistress to yer wedding? She might be clean, but she'll dampen the festive mood with her weeping."

"Daingead," Jamie said, frowning. "I told Winnie not to come. She's been weeping nonstop."

"She acts like the Lady of Dunvegan even without wedding vows," Rory said. "Of course she's upset. She's been demoted." Rory glanced at his brother. Was Jamie thinking of keeping both his mistress and wife at Dunvegan? Lord help them. Rory would have to move to one of the stone tower houses out on the open moors sooner than he'd thought.

Jamie rubbed the back of his neck. "Brodrick," he called over to his good friend, a commander in Rory's army. "Dissuade Winnie, Mistress Mar, from coming up the path. Tell her I'll find her later during the festivities."

Find her? Tupping one's mistress on one's wedding day was foking dishonorable, but what did Jamie know of honor? "Should I send Gus after her?" Rory asked. "He's never liked Winnie." Nor did anyone else in the household who'd fallen under her glare and waspish tongue.

Jamie laughed darkly, turning away from the scene unfolding up the path with his loyal guard telling the woman that she would have to mourn in private. Winnie's sobs had turned to terse threats against Brodrick's ballocks. Luckily, their old nursemaid and current housekeeper, Margaret Harris, came up and led the woman back down the lane.

"I'm glad ye've returned," Jamie said, switching topics. "I didn't approve of the exchange after Solway Moss." Jamie had remained up on Skye when Rory and their father, Alasdair MacLeod, had honored the call of King James to invade the English borderland.

Didn't approve of the exchange? Jamie was lying, but it was his wedding day, so Rory wouldn't call him out as the calculating liar he was. "Glad to hear it, brother," Rory said instead.

Jamie looked back at him. "Was it hell? Where ye were held at Carlisle Castle?"

Rory looked out at the fresh green grasses and flowers that bent over in the sea breeze that ruffled everyone's hair and tugged at their clothes. He remembered putting his hand out through the small window in his cell to feel the breeze on his fingers, longing for the wind rolling in from the sea. Rory inhaled deeply of the air he would no longer take for granted and looked at Jamie with a wry grin. "'Twas worse after King Henry realized I couldn't be persuaded to pledge him my loyalty."

Jamie crossed his arms, his chin rising defensively. "When Father was there, he was treated well. We thought the same for ye." He looked up at the sky. "And King James forbade us paying for yer return, Rory."

Rory's hand came down on Jamie's shoulder, and he resisted the urge to shake his brother until his head whipped back and forth and he fell on his arse in the dirt. He'd defended his older brother, as was his duty, all his life. But the truth was that Jamie was morally weak and lied easier than breathing. He took after their father that way.

Rory waited until his brother met his gaze before he spoke. "King James was dead within a fortnight after Solway Moss." So, the king had given no orders. Rory's brow hitched in question. It was better than punching him, something he'd continually reminded himself not to do since his return.

"Well, his advisors then," Jamie said, his words coming on waves of defensiveness. "And I thought the mighty Lion of Skye could survive anything."

Rory's eyes narrowed. "I did," he said, his voice a low growl, but he said no more. 'Twas a day to celebrate the joining of the MacLeod and Macdonald Clans, a step to strengthen Scotland.

Their father had died before he could see this momentous day, while Rory was surviving in the dank Carlisle dungeon without provisions or coins to lessen the hell. Even the occasional communication with Scotland had ceased, so Rory hadn't known that his father had died over the winter. He'd been forgotten as if he'd been buried with Alasdair MacLeod.

Rory looked toward the path where a contingent of Macdonalds was striding. "Yer bride comes hither."

"Ye know I'm the one to give that limp to Walter Macdonald," Jamie said with satisfaction, apparently looking at the elderly man and not his bride. Rory would rather look on the man's daughter than the red-faced bastard with the bulbous nose and bushy brows.

The woman wore blue, a shawl draped over her hair as if to protect it from the very wind in which Rory reveled. What foolhardy demands would the woman put on Dunvegan once it became her domestic kingdom? Their mother, Charlotte Sutherland, had been the only woman not to bring trouble to Dunvegan.

"I'm wedding a bloody Macdonald," Jamie said. "Our ancestors are spitting down from Heaven."

"I'm fairly certain Father is in Hell," Rory said, thinking of the people he'd killed. Not in battle, but in fury while meting out punishment.

As the procession came closer, Gus wagged his tail, his tongue lolling out before he gave a happy bark.

"Your hound wants to gnaw on our enemy," Jamie murmured, but Gus's bark showed quite the opposite. "The Macdonalds are not to be trusted," Jamie continued, "and our scouts say a large number have come onto our territory over the last week."

"Chief Macdonald has as little trust for us as we do for him, so he's brought warriors to safeguard his daughter," Rory said. He'd be more on edge if he hadn't survived those many months with Kenan Macdonald, who also spoke vehemently about desiring peace between all the clans on Skye.

Led by Chief Walter Macdonald, Jamie's bride came down the path, her gaze going right to Gus and then rising to Rory. Her generous mouth curved into a smile.

Bloody hell. Rory's chest clenched like his fists at his sides. Bloody foking hell . The lass from the beach yesterday, the one who'd entered his dreams last night, was Seraphina Macdonald, soon to be his sister-in-law.

Chief Macdonald, frowning and gruff, halted before the two brothers. The bride lowered her blue shawl to expose her golden auburn hair where a wreath of spring bluebells sat snug in her curls. The colors made her large blue eyes even more vibrant. Rory was unable to move. Even his breath felt hostage.

She bowed her head to Rory. "Chief MacLeod."

Next to him, Jamie made a strangled noise that ended in a chuckle. "Nay, fair lady. He is my brother, Rory, the Lion of Skye and commander of our vast army. I'm your bridegroom, Jamie MacLeod, chief of the mighty MacLeods of Dunvegan."

Seraphina's smile faded as her gaze shifted to Rory's brother. Jamie smiled at her, although one would have to be stricken with madness to think there was any warmth in it. His gaze slid down her form, not bothering to hide his assessment as if she were a mare he was thinking of breeding. Her lack of smile pinched into a small frown, but she bowed her head to Jamie.

"I present my daughter," Walter Macdonald said. "Seraphina Macdonald, the Flame of Dunscaith, as agreed with your father before he passed."

The woman's gaze snapped to her father at his words.

Flame of Dunscaith? Rory had never heard the name, but Jamie only nodded.

"I am usually called Sara," she said, but no one acknowledged her. Jamie didn't even look at her. He only noticed things that brought him immediate pleasure and ignored the rest. He was making the lass feel like a nuisance, only an object to bring a truce.

"Let's proceed," Jamie said, turning on his heel to enter the church. Even though the lass's father was the one to walk her to meet her future husband at the end of the aisle, Jamie's quick retreat without a word of welcome cast a cold unease despite the mild spring day. One glance at Seraphina showed that the lass was exceedingly aware of the snub. The rosiness in her cheeks from the walk had spread across her entire face, down her long neck, and across the exposed swell of her bosom in splotches that looked like she'd been slapped.

Rory's jaw ached, and he realized he was clenching it. So, the beautiful lass on the shoreline, who he'd thought to seek out after the wedding, was going to be his bloody sister-in-law. Aye, he would have to move to one of his towers as soon as possible. Or at least go on an extended visit to Cyrus Mackinnon in the northern part of Skye.

Gus tugged, and Rory let the lead escape his fingers so the dog could reach her. She looked down, and her smile returned. "You're looking fine and fit today, Sir Gus," she said softly, patting the dog's head before being dragged ahead by her father.

Rory watched her younger brother, the stocky, forever-frowning Gilbert, walk after them into St. Mary's Chapel. The lad's gaze shifted about, taking in every MacLeod with scorn. His cheeks were splotchy, too, as if blood thrummed under his skin. Rory had seen pale men redden before battle as they prepared to fight. But this was a wedding, not a war.

Rory's gaze moved among the guards who'd accompanied them. "Where is Kenan Macdonald?" he asked the nearest member of the Macdonald Clan.

The man watched the dark doorway of the chapel, the strung flowers and twisted hay swinging in the breeze. "Sent back to Dunscaith." The warrior turned narrowed eyes to Rory. "Ye best get inside to witness the union."

Rory picked up Gus's leash and led him inside, unease tightening the muscles of his arms and legs as if, instead of a wedding, he was joining a battle. He rubbed a hand up the back of his neck where a pain was growing to match his sour disposition. The comely lass, who seemed to genuinely like Gus, was destined to end up in Jamie's bloody arms. Hopefully, Winnie wouldn't make life unbearable for her. Maybe he'd leave this very day to visit Cy after a dram of whisky.

Inside the one-room stone chapel, light cast shades of crimson and yellow through the thick, colored glass windows depicting saints. As people filed in, Rory breathed past the unease of the cramped space, courtesy of fifteen months in a small, dark cell.

Three rows of polished oak pews held the small number of guests. Jok, Rory's best friend; Brodrick, Jamie's best friend; and Margaret Harris with her husband, Theodore. Half a dozen MacLeod warriors also entered. The rest of the clan waited near the castle, preparing for the wedding celebration. The Macdonald guests were only warriors and sat or stood in the back. Not even the crone with the crows, who was aunt to the bride, attended.

Seraphina waited with her father before the priest, Father Lockerby, Jamie on her right side. His brother cast a glance at Rory, calling him silently to stand beside him. Daingead . So, he could witness the lass who'd invaded his lusty dreams the night before pledging herself to his brother. Perhaps 'twas God's punishment for the pleasure he'd taken in the dream. Her trouble-seeking tongue was certainly at fault. He snorted softly, and the priest cast a frown in his direction.

"I swear before God," Seraphina answered the question of her loyalty and obeyance.

"I swear before God," Jamie answered the question of his protecting and providing for his wife. Love was not mentioned, so the two didn't have to worry about lying before God.

Jamie gave her a kiss that seemed too long. Seraphina's hands dropped to her sides like she was merely enduring it, and Rory looked away. Her father, the Macdonald chief, produced a quill, shoving it into Jamie's hand, breaking the kiss. "Let's sign the document so Father Lockerby can hurry on his way."

Seraphina stepped back, and when Jamie took the book, she wiped the moisture from her lips with a look of distaste. Jamie and Seraphina signed their names. Rory took the quill, glancing at her flowing script. Even her name looked beautiful.

"Go on," Chief Macdonald said, and Rory signed his name, handing the quill back to Walter, who scratched hastily across the parchment. The priest signed it, sanded the ink, and rolled the document carefully, tucking it into his satchel. That was it. Jamie was wed to Seraphina Macdonald, bringing the two largest clans on the Isle of Skye together.

Gus seemed to be the only one happy about it. He wagged his tail and leaned into the bride. Gilbert escorted the priest out of the building, hurrying him along by the elbow until the cleric slapped the eager man's hand off himself to walk out on his own.

"Come along, Seraphina," her father called from the chapel door. When Rory gazed toward it, he realized not a single Macdonald remained inside except Walter beckoning his daughter.

Margaret Harris, his and Jamie's old nursemaid, hastened forward, hugging the frowning bride. "Welcome to Dunvegan and our family." The still-spry woman gave her a genuine smile.

Margaret's husband, Theodore, was one step behind her and engulfed Seraphina's hand in both his. "We are a rabble, to be sure," he said, "but committed to welcoming ye into our home and hearts."

"Seraphina!" Walter called. "Now!" He was ordering her as if she must still obey him.

"Thank you," she said to Theodore with a tentative smile. She looked like she wished to say more, but her father kept bellowing for her to follow him out.

Jamie laughed at a lewd jest Brodrick made beside him, not concerned that his bride was being ordered to hurry away from him.

The woman's gaze swung to Rory, her blue eyes widening. She blinked, and her brows narrowed. She shook her head, frowning. "Something isn't—"

"Now!" Walter yelled.

Seraphina's gaze was full of… Was it fear? Maybe remorse? She snatched Gus's lead from his hand. "Something isn't right," she whispered and pulled Gus up the aisle.

The wind blew in through the open door, the tang of smoke on it. Was it from the fields that they'd been burning all week? They were acres away from St. Mary's Chapel in the valley.

Rory leaped forward before he'd even registered the danger, never questioning his instincts. He heard Jok curse behind him. Rory reached the door just as Walter Macdonald tried to slam it shut, but Rory got his boot in the crack. Gilbert stood beside his father on the outside with a thick log in his hands. Macdonald guards held torches, the flames twisting and dancing horizontal with the wind.

"Let me go!" the lass yelled out from somewhere beyond, and Gus growled, barking.

"I will finally have Dunvegan," Walter Macdonald called, his voice booming, breaking through the rush of wind and sea. He grinned wickedly at Rory, and his men came forward with the lit torches.

"Gu airm!" Rory yelled in Gaelic, alerting the MacLeods trapped inside the chapel. Pain shot through Rory's foot as a log slammed into it, knocking it back inside. Several toes were likely broken, but it mattered naught. The thump of bodies against the door preceded the hard drop of a bar across the outside. The doors had been open when they came up to the chapel, and no one had inspected to see that iron holders had been affixed to the outside sometime during the night. Bloody hell.

"Fire!" Margaret yelled, pointing above at the thatching that made up the roof. Darkness fell inside as planks were slammed over the stained-glass windows running along each side and behind the vestibule. Mallets nailed them into place.

The MacLeods were locking them in to die.