Chapter 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

S ilence fell over the room.

As if obeying one command, all the warriors and lairds in the great hall pushed their food aside, getting to their feet. Kendrick tore a piece from his white shirt, ran over to the warrior, and tied his still bleeding wound.

"This will stop yer bleeding, lad."

"Thank ye, milaird."

Kendrick signaled his soldiers outside. Logan, Mackenzie and Reed took position at his side, and they all unsheathed their swords. Then came the enemy soldiers. As Kendrick expected, they were from the Munro clan, their yellow, bright plaids as bold as their wicked laird.

Kendrick did not hold back.

He slashed through every yellow-garbed soldier on sight, fighting to reach Munro.

That coward… I ken it! He will nae show up. The scoundrel of a laird would rather send his men than risk his own life by coming here.

He spotted Reed hitting the floor as one of Munro's men whacked him behind the head. Kendrick revealed the small dagger that he hid inside his boots. He made to target the man's neck, but his blow was cast off by another warrior that knocked him off-kilter.

"Shite!"

The knife landed in the soldier's arm instead.

With a fiery groan, he pulled the knife out and then lifted it up to stab Reed.

Kendrick ran just in time to bury his steel sword into the man's belly. As he pulled it out, knots of intestines followed. The soldier fell lifeless to the ground.

"Reed! How badly are ye hurt?"

"Naught but a scratch."

Kendrick leaned down and extended a hand to Reed, who quickly grabbed it and helped himself up.

"Ye should always watch yer back," Kendrick scorned. "Ye never ken who will attack from behind!"

Reed picked up his sword. "I'll remember that, milaird."

The two friends fought side by side, defending one another, until all of the yellow-kilted barbarians were defeated. By the end of the battle, some were nothing more than empty, lifeless shells, but a few others were gravely wounded. The sun had already grown tired of the sky by that point. Perhaps it was irritated by the sight of blood.

Kendrick was busy wiping his sword on the plaid of one of the Munro warriors who had died when his war chief approached him. He held his hands to the back, chest proud, as Kendrick said, "How many wounded soldiers do we have?"

"Only a handful," the war chief replied, "but all are able to ride."

"How many dead and how many wounded from the clan Munro?"

"Forty-five are dead, and fifty-seven are wounded. Thirteen may not survive till tomorrow next," the war chief added. "Shall we put our swords through their hearts, milaird?"

"This is nae our fight—the Mackenzies will be the ones to decide the fate of these men." Kendrick pushed a lock of dark hair from his face. "What think ye of this, Mackenzie?" he asked, sheathing his now clean sword.

"They shall be my prisoners. Their laird must sign a treaty of peace, swearing under God before he gets back his soldiers." Mackenzie turned to a warrior of his own clan. "Get a healer to treat their wounds. Afterwards, ye must lock them up."

The soldier gave a nod and went away to do his laird's bidding.

"I must return now with my men, Mackenzie, lest night fall over us as we journey home."

Laird Mackenzie looked Kendrick head to toe. "Ye should take a bath and get changed, MacNeil."

Kendrick examined himself after seeing Mackenzie's worried blinks. His ripped shirt, as well as his kilt and boots, were covered in blood splatters.

He cast a glance at his war chief, who shook his head lightly. Kendrick got it right away. It was an unspoken rule in the Highlands for chieftains to never spend a night in another clan even if it was ruled by a great ally.

"I regret to say this, Mackenzie, but I must return this evening. I have other matters I must attend before dawn."

"Well then, MacNeil." Laird Mackenzie opened a small wooden box that a footman beside him was holding. "I present to ye the deed to the land yer farmers can use this season. I oblige ye accept it as a token of my appreciation."

Kendrick collected the paper and unrolled it to confirm the words written on it. Satisfied, he rolled it back up and handed it to his war chief. "I am most grateful, Mackenzie. My men and I will commence our journey home in haste."

Kendrick and his men had to travel for five hours before they arrived at their destination. A small group of soldiers greeted them in front of the castle. However, they were in no position to accept praise for their visit to the Mackenzies. They were all exhausted, hungry, and filthy from the clinging mix of dry blood and dirt. Some were simply in pain, while others had been severely injured. Kendrick went to his bedchamber and took a cold bath to relieve the stress of the day.

The next morning was rather refreshing. He had not woken at dawn; not even a single nightmare had disrupted his rest—until it was time for breakfast. He sat down alone to a large breakfast of milk, bread, sausages, and fruit.

At intervals, he glanced at the part of the table Sophia had occupied during her stay. Her elegance with every bite she took, the way her lips sweetly moved as she ate—eating away, too, at every bit of Kendrick's self-control. God help him, the idea of her was slowly driving him to insanity.

When he was done eating, he motioned for the servants to clear the table but remained firm in his seat. He had considered arranging a council meeting to share the news that their harvest problem had been somewhat solved, but he decided against it. Reed and Logan would be too tired to resume their politicking after the chaos they had just faced.

Another dark thought crossed Kendrick's mind—Laird Munro would not lay down his arms after finding out his men had been defeated. Surely, there was no way he would confront him directly, and there was no way he would attack the Mackenzies again, too.

Nae… he has far too few soldiers at his disposal to even try.

The task of figuring out Munro's next move caused Kendrick a great deal of distress. He was sure he would attempt something malicious in time. In spite of that, he could not conclude how or when .

"Milaird." A servant barged into the hall. "The mistress is here to see ye."

" Mistress ? Angus' daughter?"

"Aye, milaird. She is in the courtyard, the mid—"

"Ye may go. I'll meet her myself." Kendrick prickled with nerves without letting the man finish his sentence. He shot up from his seat, gleefully. He only regained his composure when he reached the atrium before the courtyard.

A pin of dismay jabbed at Kendrick's heart when he stepped outside. All excitement in him ran dry. Why had he stupidly let his heart flutter, getting his own hopes so high?

"Milaird," Lorena bowed.

"Milady…" Kendrick tried to kill every ounce of disappointment in his tone. "How have ye been?"

"Very well, milaird." She looked back to where her coach had stopped.

"Listen, Lorena… I ken I wronged ye, and I must apologize for—"

"There is nae reason to apologize, I did nae have affection for ye and I ken from the start that my sister, Sophia, deeply cared for ye. That is why I am here."

Tension crawled up Kendrick's throat. "Is Sophia unwell?"

"Nae, milaird. There is something else."

"Tell me—what is it?"

"My sister left because of Catherine. The morning of yer wedding, she found the two of ye lying beside each other in yer chamber and Catherine was… bare."

"Bare?"

"Bare, milaird. That is not all. Catherine told her she… was carrying yer bairn." Lorena had a hard time saying the words, and Kendrick could not blame her. He was overcome with anger. Flames of fury devoured all calm in him. His jaw clenched; his fists clenched.

"Thank ye, for sharing this with me, Lorena. I will handle the situation from here."

"Aye, milaird." Lorena bowed with one last glance at him and then departed for her carriage by the gates.

Kendrick drifted into the great hall feeling anger stirring in his stomach. "Call Mrs. Brown to meet me here," he commanded a maid.

He sat on his chair in the feasting hall, like a lion defending its territory from outsiders. A few minutes later, Mrs. Brown stepped foot into the great hall. "Milaird," she curtsied. "Ye asked for me."

"Aye… is there any maid under ye with child?"

"Milaird, I dinnae—"

"Are any of the maids in the keep with child?" Kendrick repeated more loudly.

"Nae, milaird… I keep up with… their changes, milaird, so as not tax them and—"

"What about Catherine?"

"The lass was red only a few days ago, milaird."

"Bring her here—now."

Mrs. Brown scurried away, afraid of the fire in his eyes. As Kendrick awaited her impatiently, tapping his hand on the table, Logan joined him in the great hall.

"What is it, milaird?" Logan stepped closer, inquisitively. "Yer all riled up."

Kendrick ignored Logan's question—not that he did not want to give one. His anger would not let him say any word without a roar, however. When Mrs. Brown quickly came back with Catherine, the maid wore a huge smile on her face—a sly, deceptive smile that frustrated him even more.

He asked, "Are ye with bairn, Catherine? Tell me before us all."

Catherine peered around the room. She quickly turned away her eyes as soon as they met with Logan's. "Aye, milaird. I am."

Kendrick leaned back on his chair. "Ye ken the consequences of lying to me, Catherine, don't ye?"

"Aye, milaird."

"So, I'll ask ye for the very last time—are ye with bairn?"

Catherine hesitated.

"Answer me, now!" Kendrick snarled so mightily that even Logan flinched.

Catherine's eyes began to glitter with tears. "Nae! Nae, milaird. I am nae with bairn."

Kendrick saw red. Hot, fire red. He fought the temptation to grab Catherine by her villainous neck and drain the life from her.

"And ye lied to Sophia, my betrothed, that ye were carrying my child."

"Aye, milaird." Catherine began to sob.

Kendrick glowered at her. There was no remorse in her eyes, no genuine hint of regret—only those fake tears that flowed from her eyes so easily. It pained him. It pained him more that he could not completely fault her. If he had not indulged her from the start, if he had not given into her tempting advancements, none of the mess he found himself in would have happened.

"Catherine—today, I take from ye the name MacNeil . Ye shall never set yer foot into or near any of the MacNeil lands. I hereby banish ye from this clan."

Catherine threw herself to the floor before him. "Ye cannae banish me, milaird! I've nowhere to go from here!"

"Ye should've thought of that before ye lied to my face, before ye lied and insulted my betrothed on the morning of our wedding. If ye come anywhere near me or my clan again, I will take yer head, too." He rose from his seat, edged toward her, and tilted her face to meet his gaze. "It will nae be a quick, clean death, Catherine. That, I promise ye."

"Ye must forgive me, milaird." Catherine slammed the floor, wailing harder. "Ye cannae punish me so!"

"Drag her out of here," Kendrick commanded one of the warriors that was standing before the door of the great hall. Then, he slunk back into his chair.

As the warrior dragged Catherine out kicking and screaming, Mrs. Brown turned to leave.

"Ye cannae go yet Mrs. Brown. I still have some questions for ye."

"Ask me, milaird. I will give an answer as truthfully as I can."

"I remembered Catherine came to this keep when I was a wee boy. Do ye ken her family?"

Mrs. Brown straightened and glared at Kendrick. "When she came to this castle, milaird, she was only a wee lass of five. My late husband, yer father's war chief, brought her back on his way from Vileham Fort one chilly winter morning. Her hands and feet were soaked with blood, her blue eyes were colored with fear and desperation." Mrs. Brown removed a kerchief from her pocket, patted at the corner of her eyes, then continued. "She did nae speak for days. Those days turned into weeks and even months, until one evening she saw ye running around the oak tree before the keep with Miss Sophia."

Kendrick's fire was melting bit by bit into pity. Every breath Mrs. Brown took while narrating the story made him impatient to hear more. "What happened that evening?"

"She asked, Will he become the Laird someday? When I confirmed, Aye, he will be , she said, Then he will be mine and mine alone … she had a fierceness in her when she spoke."

"What did she mean by that?"

"At first, I thought she was just being a wee girl. Wee girls say things like that all the time. Until one day, I saw her spitting into Miss Sophia's food. She was only twelve, then. That was when I came to ken she was obsessed with ye. When I told her off, she hated me and has hated me since that very day. She has been in love with ye since she was a wee lass, milaird."

"Is that all ye ken about her? Did yer husband never tell ye where she came from before Vileham?"

"Even he did nae ken much. He met her in a bed of snow, freezing and asleep. He felt sorry and brought her with him as he returned."

"Did ye nae think to talk about her strange behavior?"

"I did. I told my husband, but he simply brushed it off and asked me never to speak of it for the sake of the girl. I am sorry," Mrs. Brown broke into tears. "I am sorry for nae telling ye sooner, milaird."

"I understand ye'd never have taken a wee lass' words to heart, Mrs. Brown." Kendrick tried to settle his face into a smile. "I dinnae fault ye for any of Catherine's actions."

"T-Thank ye, milaird," Mrs. Brown bowed. "Thank ye for yer kindness."

"Ye may return to yer duties now."

Mrs. Brown helped herself up, shook her head, and she left the great hall.

"Uncle," Kendrick called to Logan, who was evidently not as shocked as he was by the revelations. "Did ye ken about this?"

"Aye… yer mother was the one who put Mrs. Brown in charge of the lass for good." He positioned his hand on his waist. "I always suspected she was nae ordinary lass."

"I want ye to find out all ye can about her family and from what clan she belongs," Kendrick rose from his chair. "I will see ye when I return."

"Where are ye off to?"

"Where else? I must tell Sophia the truth."