“Lachlan, can ye see him in your…vision?” Cocking his head to the side, Alex waited.
“Nae,” he answered, shaking his head slowly.
Alex turned his gaze back to Sean. Reaching out, he clamped a hand on his shoulder. “I need ye to go on a quest.” Sean raised an eyebrow in response as Alex continued, “Ride forth to Castle Creag. Ye have a spy within, and I need to find where this Mackay has ventured.”
“So the Mackay has been at Castle Creag?” asked Lachlan glancing away to keep his fury from showing.
“Aye,” responded Alex.
Sean slowly nodded in assent, a slow smile curving his ruggedly handsome face. “Aye, it will give me some long overdue nights with Morag.”
Alex barked out a roar of laughter, giving Sean’s shoulder a shake, “Oh, that I could take the journey with ye. Give her my regards.”
“Nae, she might be looking over my shoulder for ye,” he responded, a smile creasing his face.
Lachlan snarled inwardly wanting to spit. So, Alex knew where the Mackay had been all along. Now, he was sending his right hand man to search for information. He tried hard not to clench his fists at the thought of anyone finding him before himself. Alex was playing a game, which he would surely lose. Struggling with thoughts that would visibly be his undoing, he turned them inward toward another path.
Tapping his finger to his mouth while shaking his head, he said, “Hmmmm, a keen plan, Alex. One I should commend ye on.” Grabbing the reins of his horse in preparation to leave, he added, “I go now to give this news to your brother. He will be anxious to hear of your plans.”
Alex nodded his assent. “Give my brother my regards and tell him I will return by the first snows, though in truth I think the gods and goddesses have misplaced the seasons. It is too warm this close to Samhain.”
“I will, though who are we to argue with what the gods and goddesses have given us?” Turning aside, he slowly made his way down and toward the path away from them, his mind reveling in his new plans. A cruel smile splayed across his features as he spoke quietly, “Aye, Alex, I will use your plans indeed, and if your man stumbles across my path, who’s to say it was my dirk or that of the Mackays?”
A shadow of a rider emerged from the trees, blocking Lachlan’s path. Lachlan nodded his head in acknowledgement. No words were exchanged as the rider followed in his wake.
“Do ye ken who he rides with?” asked Sean.
Alex rubbed the back of his neck. “Nae. Not my concern at the moment. Nonetheless, the druid is lying. Why would he be out in the Highlands near Mackay land? Lachlan has never ventured past our lands.”
“He is a slippery one, Alex. Not to be trusted.”
“Patrick warned me about him, and I would not listen. Besides, the news of the Mackay will overshadow any concerns regarding Lachlan.”
Sean’s hands rested on the horn of his saddle as he glanced at the northern end of the glen. “I’ll pass through An Druim Buidhe and through the witch’s teat to make Castle Creag before the night falls.”
“An Druim Buidhe—yellow ridge?” A frown marred his features.
“Aye. It is quicker and few if any will pass along that road.”
“Good, good.” Shifting his gaze from the path Lachlan took, he turned toward Sean. “Do not be seen within the castle. Let the woman gather the information we seek. I cannot start a feud with the Murray,
yet
. I will return to the grove in four days.
With a quick nod, Sean rode off toward the northern part of the glen leaving Alex alone with a sense of unease. He watched him until he was no longer in his sight. His eyes caught movement and watched a hawk in the distance, soaring and diving. A smile curved his mouth, thinking it to be hunting its prey. Then his smile became a scowl, noticing the hawk was not hunting prey, it was following Sean.
“Bloody bastard, druid magic!” He spat out on to the ground. “Ye will rue the day ye crossed paths with this MacFhearguis.” Until the day either Patrick or himself could present facts as to why they should no longer welcome Lachlan as their counsel, he would have to patient.
And his patience with Lachlan was ebbing away.
Chapter 30
“In the Book of the Beginning, there was a voice, and her melody sang a song of awakening.”
Duncan slowed his pace when he came into view of Castle Creag, allowing Brigid a moment before they would descend. He could just imagine the questions they would likely have for her.
To say Duncan was proud of the lass riding with him would be madness, but that was indeed how he felt. Smiling slightly, he watched her approach, curls escaping from her braid and fanning her heart-shaped face. Her lips were pursed in a thin line, and he took it as a sign of torment, either mentally or physically. He had literally pushed them hard, allocating only one stop. Not a word had passed from those lips, and he silently praised her spirit and strength. She was not a good rider, but she kept up with his relentless pace.
Now that they were at Castle Creag, he would see she received some much needed rest and proper clothing. “Aye, clothing indeed,” he murmured.
Closing the distance to her, he pointed to the massive stone structure. “That there is Castle Creag, home of Cormac Murray.”
Tucking her curls behind her ears, she squinted. “Castle Creag?
Creag
, meaning rock in Gaelic?”
Duncan’s eyes lit up at her knowledge of his language, and his smile broadened. “Aye, lass. Ye understand.”
Hells bells, thought Brigid. She had to hold tight to the reins to keep from swooning, but when this man smiled fully, her heart did a flip-flop. God, he was gorgeous, his teeth gleaming white against his slightly bearded face and the light from his eyes sparkled. All she could think of was that he definitely was part fae. No one could be so handsome without some magic thrown into their DNA. Brigid could only smile back and nod, like some daft lass she turned into every so often,
particularly
around him.
“Shall we?” He waved his hand toward the entrance.
Taking her gaze from the Highlander in front of her, Brigid’s mouth opened at the sight before her. She kept Roan at a slow pace to absorb the feeling of seeing her very first castle. Who would have believed she, Brigid O’Neill, would be transported back in time and entering a real medieval castle in Scotland. It may not be Eilean Donan on the Isle of Skye
or
the great Edinburgh Castle, but it was stunning in all its glory. There were two towers, one facing east, the other west, wondering what it would be like to stand within one of those towers when the mists descended.
A parapet went around the entire keep and a stream flowed in the front and under a bridge. From her vantage point, she could discern not one, but two entrances. Sheep were grazing at the western end. The scene was one she wished to imprint in her memory forever.
As they crossed the stone bridge leading upwards, she peeked over the side to see some boys playing. They were skipping stones across the water, their laughter filling the air. One of the boys pointed at her and Duncan, all play coming to a halt, their mouths opened in shock.
She just smiled back.
Duncan had seen the guard standing at the forward tower and raised a hand in acknowledgment. Making their way through the tunnel entrance, they passed under the portcullis. He was amazed at how many were now drawn to their attention, especially the men. They were gaping not at him, but at Brigid. The lass riding behind him in the strange clothing.
“God’s blood!” He smacked his hand against his forehead. What had he been thinking? He glanced back at Brigid and saw her smiling at them. Did she not realize what she looked like—in her strange clothing, molding every inch of her body? Before he was forced to draw his sword, he needed to get her quickly inside.
A squeal and the pitter-patter of light footsteps came barreling out from the stables. There was only one person who would be so brave as to greet him thus. Finn.
Dismounting from Brandubh, he watched as Finn came running to a halt right in front of him. “Good evening, Sir Duncan. May I take Brandubh?”
“What is this? I did not recall such manners before I took my leave, and now look at ye?” A smile tugged at the corners of Duncan’s mouth.
“Why, Sir Duncan, I ken manners verra well.” Finn was standing still awaiting a nod of approval, but his hands were twisting behind his back, giving away his excitement. In truth, he believed Finn was happier to see his horse.
Taking a hand to Finn’s hair, he rumpled it saying, “Aye, and tell Tiernan we have another horse as well.” Turning to help Brigid dismount, his heart all but stopped when he saw Cormac had already taken a hold of her, placing his arms around her waist. He watched in horror as Cormac gently placed her down, only to keep one arm locked firmly around her.
Growling, Duncan lunged forward.
Cormac placed his other hand out, grasping Duncan’s shoulder, arching an eyebrow in question. “I was just helping the bonny lass down, Duncan.” Releasing his grip on Brigid first, he kept his hand firmly on Duncan’s shoulder.
Keeping his gaze locked on Brigid, he asked, “Will ye make the introductions, Duncan?”
“Cormac Murray, this is Brigid O’Neill, and she is under
my
protection.” Stepping away from his grasp, Duncan took her arm, placing it securely within the crook of his. He knew better than to look at Brigid, realizing her eyes were probably throwing him daggers. She tried to pull free from his grasp, but he was much stronger and held firm.
Palms held up in surrender, Cormac took a step back. Glancing back at Brigid, he bowed his head briefly. “Welcome to Castle Creag. I ken ye must be tired and hungry.” Coughing into his hand he also sputtered out the last, “And in need of clothing, too, aye?”
Duncan’s eyes narrowed, “Aye, and quickly, lest one of your men meets with the end of my sword.”
Brigid tried to elbow him. “Oh, for pity’s sake, Duncan, stop being an ass!”
It was as if her words had silenced the entire country. Even the horses had gone completely still.
Releasing her, he placed his fists on his hips and lowered his face mere inches from hers, his eyes blazing as he spoke. “In case ye did not notice, Brigid, ye are a meal for these men in your outlandish clothing, and I will
not
be made a laughingstock with your words in front of them,” he hissed out.
“Really?” Brigid snorted. “You seem to be doing just that all on your own.”
Cormac proceeded to cough loudly into his fist. “Nell,” he sputtered out. “Nell!”
A young lass came running out. She had flour on her nose, and her braids looked like they had been pulled as they had started to unravel. “Aye, Master Cormac?”
Taking a finger and wiping the flour off her nose, Cormac just shook his head. “Helping in the kitchens again?”
“Oh
nae
, Master Cormac. I ken better.” Nell started fussing with her apron, twisting the ends as if deciding how to tell the story.
“Ye ken what Moira will do to ye if she finds ye swiping cakes again?” Cormac stood with his arms crossed over his chest.
“’Tis only one,” she corrected.
Cormac snorted. “Then there was the mince pies, green pea pottage, and a basket filled with apples, which Moira found the other morning.”
She lifted her chin. “They were for the stray dogs.”
“The strays can forage for themselves.” Holding up the finger with flour on it, he asked, “And what do ye suppose this is?”
“Dust?”
“Ye had better pray Moira does not find ye in the kitchen, since ye are banned from the place.”
“I would
never
disobey an order.” Her eyes wide.
“Good to hear. Take Mistress Brigid to the guest room on the east tower, and fetch Sienna to care for her.”
“Aye, Master Cormac.” Her eyes alight as she glanced Brigid’s way.
Smiling, Brigid extended her hand out to Nell. “Lead the way.”
Nell grasped Brigid’s hand, tugging her along.
Brigid glanced back over her shoulder mouthing a thank you to Cormac before being whisked away.
Slowly, Cormac turned toward Duncan. With his arms folded across his chest, he asked, “Sweet Danu! Who
is
this Brigid O’Neill?”
Duncan continued following Brigid with his eyes until she stepped inside the castle. Letting out a long held breath, he turned aside and removed the pouch containing the sword from Roan. Holding the pouch under his arm, he gazed back to where Brigid had parted from them. How much could he reveal to Cormac?
Waiting a few more moments he spoke softly. “Brigid O’Neill was sent by the Guardian to bring back my sword and relinquish it to me at a time of her choosing.”
Cormac slowly released his arms, the look of shock registering across his features. “The lass has brought ye your sword?” His eyes leveled at the pouch in disbelief. “What do ye mean, a time of her
choosing
?”
“When the time comes, she will give me back my sword. It is hers…temporarily.”
Rubbing the back of his neck, Cormac grimaced. “Strange that a
lass
has brought ye back your sword, but who is she? Is she part of your quest?”
Glancing around, Duncan grabbed Cormac’s arm, turning him away from the ears of his men. Hugging the sword more tightly, he quietly said, “The lass has come from another land and has been touched by the fae. I do not ken when the time will happen.” Duncan could see the uncertainty in the face of his friend. “
Nor
do I believe she kens.”
“A twist if ever I heard of, Duncan. Nevertheless, I do not feel sorry for ye.”
Duncan frowned. “And why is that?”
Slowly smiling and with a twinkle in his eyes, he answered, “She is a very bonny lass and easy on the eyes. What with her style of clothing, I would very much like to visit her land.”
Cormac never saw the punch coming, for Duncan hit him quick, knocking him flat on the ground. “Bloody hell, Duncan!” He rubbed his chin, and checked for loose teeth with his tongue.
“I told ye, Brigid is under my protection and ye should do well to remember it,” his voice one of steel. Leaving a stunned Cormac sitting on the ground, Duncan stormed off toward the lists.