1 FORGIVEFORGET

Duart Castle

Isle of Mull, Scotland

May 1315

THE HORSE CLATTERED into the outer courtyard, foam flying from its mouth.

Descending from the walls, Finn MacDonald's gaze narrowed. He'd seen the horse from a distance, racing along the clifftops from the north, its rider crouched low over the saddle.

They were traveling with urgency, and Finn had called out to the guards below to open the gates and winch up the portcullis.

Whoever the rider was—he had news. And judging from the grim lines of the man's sweat-slicked face, as he swung down from the saddle, it wasn't good.

"I bring word from Dounarwyse," the warrior greeted Finn without preamble. He was breathing hard, his blue eyes wide. "We've spied a fleet of birlinns heading down the coast toward the broch." His throat bobbed. "They're flying the Mackinnon banner."

Finn's mouth thinned. "Of course, they are." That came as no surprise. Kendric Mackinnon had been sharpening his dirk for months now, biding his time. However, this man's mention of a ‘fleet' of ships did take him aback. As far as Finn knew, Mackinnon's alliance with the MacDonalds of Sleat on Skye had fallen through—their enemy didn't have such resources.

"How many galleys?" he asked then.

"We counted twenty."

Finn's gut clenched. Twenty? How the devil had ‘The Butcher of Dùn Ara' managed to amass such a force ?

"Our scouts on the coast spied MacNab and MacGregor banners flying on some of the masts," the warrior gasped, answering his unvoiced question while he struggled to recover his breath. "The Mackinnons have found new allies."

Finn breathed a curse, even as a chill rippled down his spine. This was the last thing they needed. The Macleans of Duart had only five birlinns at their immediate disposal, and it would take a day or two for help to come from Moy, Croggan, and Breachacha once word went out.

He gestured to a stable lad to take the messenger's horse before nodding toward the keep that rose above them. "Come on," he said curtly, masking his worry with a brusque manner that had served him well over the years. "The clan-chief needs to hear this."

Loch Maclean's face hardened as the messenger relayed the news to him. "That treacherous bastard," the laird growled. "I wondered what he was up to."

Standing by the window, Finn nodded. "Aye, it's been nearly three months since MacKinnon's hopes for an alliance with the MacDonalds of Sleat turned to smoke … but he's clearly been busy in the meantime."

Across the solar, the laird's sister gave a soft snort. " Clearly ."

Finn frowned. Astrid Maclean rarely addressed him directly, yet he could always rely on her to make a jibe at his expense. Her tone now intimated that he'd just stated the obvious. Heat ignited under his ribs as he marked the glint in her peat-brown eyes.

Aye, the lady rarely missed the opportunity to make her disdain for him clear.

And likewise, he paid her the same compliment. The mere sight of the woman made his hackles rise. She was a constant reminder of a past he wished he could bury. There were still plenty of folk locally who looked at him askance, but while he found most of them easy to ignore, he loathed Astrid Maclean with a force that made his gut cramp.

Only, now wasn't the time to lob an equally sharp comment back at her. Not in the face of such dire news.

"How in Hades did he manage to secure the help of the MacNabs and the MacGregors?" Loch went on .

"They're Mackinnon allies," Astrid pointed out, "although from what I've heard, they have more to do with the Mackinnons of Strathardle … than those of Mull."

"Kendric Mackinnon is out for more than blood now," Mairi, Loch's wife, spoke up then. She sat opposite Astrid, by the hearth, her tawny eyes wide, her face taut. "Tara's disappearance has likely twisted him … turned his loathing for the Macleans into something far more dangerous. I wouldn't be surprised if he emptied his coffers or offered up his son in marriage to one of his new allies to achieve his end."

Silence followed these ominous words, and Finn's breathing grew shallow. "He doesn't know where Tara is, does he?" he asked, as a suspicion caught hold in his mind.

Loch's mouth pursed. "Let's hope he doesn't … or he won't just lay siege to Dounarwyse … he'll pull the broch apart stone by stone before he disembowels my cousin."

Finn pulled a face before muttering, "He'll do that anyway."

Back in March, the laird's cousin, Jack, had abducted Mackinnon's daughter, in a bid to take revenge on him. Years earlier, Kendric Mackinnon had murdered his father, and Jack had never been able to let his rage go. However, the abduction hadn't gone quite as planned, and Jack had lost his heart to the flame-haired beauty. Tara had returned home to her kin, only to run away hours later to be with Jack—and they'd lived at Dounarwyse in the months since.

To their knowledge, the Mackinnon clan-chief had no idea where his daughter had gone, yet he was no fool.

Perhaps it had dawned on him that she'd fallen in love with her captor. Even so, Mackinnon wouldn't know where Jack was. Until recently, he'd lived here at Duart Castle. Now, he captained his brother's guard at Dounarwyse. A large defense of eighty warriors guarded the castle—however, against the fleet of twenty birlinns that sailed toward them, it wouldn't be enough.

Drawing in a sharp breath, Loch focused on the messenger once more. "I'll give ye a fresh horse, but I need ye to return swiftly to Dounarwyse," he instructed. "Tell the laird that help is on its way … and that he must hold the castle until it arrives."

"Aye, Maclean," the warrior replied, although his expression was grim .

"Get yerself some food and drink from the kitchens first," Loch added, perhaps taking note of the man's exhaustion.

"Thank ye." With that, the messenger nodded, turned on his heel, and left the solar, the door thudding shut behind him.

Finn stepped away from the window. He was naturally impatient, not one to ever sit still for long, yet the need to act now boiled inside him. "Shall I ride for Croggan Tower and Moy Castle and tell Logan and Leod to rally their warriors?"

To his surprise, Loch shook his head. "Send one of yer men to do that … and others across to Breachacha. My chieftains have all assured me of their loyalty … let's test it." Loch paused then, raking a hand through his long dark hair. His gaze focused on Finn, narrowing slightly. "But if Mackinnon has roped in other clans, our own resources won't be enough."

"Ye must call upon the Macleods of Skye, brother," Astrid announced, rising gracefully from her chair, and pushing her long pale-gold hair from her shoulders. "They owe us a debt."

Loch glanced his sister's way. "Aye … since we've reestablished ties with them, it's time to see if Tormod Macleod will remember our old alliance."

Finn's lips compressed at these words. Indeed, Loch had been in close contact with the Macleod clan-chief over the past months, but Tormod hadn't made him any promises.

"We must work quickly," Astrid said as she moved toward her brother. The lady's chin rose, her dark eyes filled with determination. "I shall go to Skye and relay yer call to arms in person."

Loch's mouth curved into a thin smile. "Aye, Astrid … if anyone can convince auld Tormod Macleod to help us, it's ye."

Finn fought a sneer. Once, Loch had locked horns with his headstrong sister, yet these days, he appreciated her strategic mind and quick thinking. They worked closely together. Too closely for Finn's liking, for it meant that, as Captain of the Duart Guard, he saw far too much of the harpy.

And whenever their paths crossed, their scorn for each other was blistering. Astrid still looked at him as if he was a murderer, and he still recalled how she'd bayed for his blood over a decade earlier. Neither of them was prepared to forgive … to forget. Indeed, their hatred for each other had deepened over the years.

All the same, there was a part of him—a tiny part—that grudgingly admired her cleverness .

Loch shifted his attention from Astrid then, focusing upon Finn instead. "My sister will be departing for Skye at first light tomorrow." Loch's dark eyes glinted, and Finn tensed. He knew that look well. His friend was up to something. "And ye shall escort her."