Highlanders Collection. Ann Lethbridge
I don’t think you’re wanting to start a disagreement with Hamish before ye return.’
The arrow of disapproval struck its intended target. Her shoulders lowered, and she wished there were something she could do to help her father. They were bleeding him dry, and she loathed the thought of what he’d done for his clan’s safety.
But Ballaloch was no longer her home. Neither was Callendon, though she’d lived there for the past four years while she’d been married to the chief of the MacDonnell clan.
Iver was dead now. And though she’d had a comfortable life with him, it had been an empty marriage. Nothing at all like the love she’d known before.
A tendril of grief slipped within her heart for the man she’d lost, so many years ago. Bram MacKinloch’s death had broken her apart, and no man could ever replace him.
Now, she was mistress of nothing and mother of no one. Iver’s son and his wife had already assumed the leadership of the clan and its holdings. Nairna was an afterthought, the widow left behind. No one of importance.
The unsettled feeling of helplessness rooted deep inside. Loneliness spread across her heart with the fervent wish that she could be useful to someone. She wanted a home and a family, a place where she wouldn’t be a shadow. But it felt like there was no place that she truly belonged. Not in her father’s home. Not in her late husband’s home.
‘I won’t interfere,’ she promised Jenny. ‘I just want to see why they’re here now. He’s already paid the bribes due for this quarter.’
‘Nairna,’ her maid warned. ‘Leave it be.’
‘I’ll listen to what they’re saying,’ she said slowly, feigning a nonchalance she didn’t feel. ‘And I might try to speak with Da.’
Her maid grumbled, but followed her below stairs. ‘Take Angus with ye,’ she advised.
Nairna didn’t care about a guard, but as soon as she crossed the Hall, Angus MacPherson, a thick-chested man with arms the size of broad tree limbs, shadowed her path.
Outside, she blinked at the afternoon sunlight and saw the English soldiers standing within the inner bailey. Across one of the horses lay the covered body of a man.
Her heart seized at the sight and she hurried closer. Was it a MacPherson they’d found?
Their leader was addressing Hamish, saying, ‘We caught this man wandering not far from Ballaloch. One of yours, I suppose.’ The soldier’s mouth curled in a thin smile.
Nairna’s hand gripped the dagger at her waist. Her father’s face was expressionless as he stared at the soldiers. ‘Is he alive?’
The man gave a nod, motioning for the other soldier to bring the body closer. They had covered their captive’s face with a hood.
‘How much is a man’s life worth to you?’ the Englishman asked. ‘Fifteen pennies, perhaps?’
‘Show me his face,’ Hamish said quietly, sending a silent signal to his steward. Whatever price they named, Nairna knew her father would pay it. But she couldn’t even tell if the prisoner was alive.
‘Twenty pennies,’ their leader continued. He ordered his men to lift the captive from the horse and hold him. The hooded prisoner couldn’t stand upright, and from his torn clothing, Nairna didn’t recognise the man. The long dark hair falling about his shoulders was their only clue to his identity.
Nairna drew closer to her father, lowering her voice. ‘He’s not one of ours.’
The soldiers gripped their captive by his shoulders, and another jerked the man’s head backwards, baring his throat.
‘Twenty-five pennies,’ the Englishman demanded, unsheathing a dagger. ‘His life belongs to you, MacPherson, if you want it.’ He rested the blade at the prisoner’s throat. At the touch of the metal against skin, the prisoner’s hands suddenly closed into fists. He struggled to escape the soldiers’ grip, twisting and fighting.
He was alive.
Nairna’s pulse raced as she stared at the unknown man. Her hands began shaking, for she understood that they would show no mercy to the stranger. They were truly going to execute him, right in the middle of the bailey. And there was no way to know if their captive was a MacPherson or one of their enemies.
‘Thirty pennies,’ came her father’s voice, reaching for a small purse that his steward had brought.
Their leader smiled, catching the purse as it was tossed at him. The soldiers shoved the prisoner to the ground, but after he struck the earth he didn’t rise.
‘Go back to Lord Harkirk,’ Hamish commanded.
The English soldier mounted his horse, rejoining the others as he fingered the purse. ‘I wondered if you were going to let him die. I would have killed him, you know. One less Scot.’ He tossed the bag of coins, his thin smile stretching.
Angus moved forwards from behind Nairna, his hand grasping a spear in a silent threat. Other MacPherson fighters circled the English soldiers, but they had already begun their departure.
Nairna couldn’t quite catch her breath at her father’s blatant bribery. Thirty pennies. She felt as if the wind had been knocked from her lungs. He’d handed it over, without a second thought.
Though she didn’t speak, her father eyed her. ‘A man’s life is more important than coins.’
‘I know it.’ Nairna gripped her hands together, trying to contain her agitation. ‘But what will you do when they come back, demanding more? Will you continue to pay Lord Harkirk until they’ve seized Ballaloch and made prisoners of our people?’
Her father strode over to the fallen body of the prisoner. ‘We’re alive, Nairna. Our clan is one of the few left untouched. And by God, if I have to spend every last coin to ensure their safety, I will do so. Is that clear?’
She swallowed hard as Hamish rolled the man over, easing him up. ‘You shouldn’t have to bribe them. It’s not right.’
There was no difference between the English soldiers and cheating merchants, as far as Nairna was concerned. Men took advantage, whenever it was allowed. She knelt down beside her father, trying to calm her roiling emotions.
‘Well, lad, let’s see who you are,’ Hamish said, pulling off the hood.
Nairna’s heart stopped when she saw the prisoner’s face.
For it was Bram MacKinloch. The husband she hadn’t seen since the day she’d married him, seven years ago.
Pale moonlight illuminated the room and Bram opened his eyes. Every muscle in his body ached, and he swallowed hard. Thirsty. So thirsty.
‘Bram,’ came a soft voice. ‘Are you awake?’
He turned towards the sound and wondered if he was dead. He had to be, for he knew that voice. It was Nairna, the woman he’d dreamed of for so long.
A cup was raised to his lips and he drank the cool ale, grateful that she’d anticipated the need. She moved closer and lit an oil lamp to illuminate the darkness. The amber glow revealed her features, and he stared at her, afraid the vision would fade away if he blinked.
Her mouth was soft, her cheekbones well formed and her long brown hair fell freely across her shoulders. She’d become a beautiful woman.
He wanted to touch her. Just to know that she was real.
Longing swelled through him, mingled with bittersweet regret. His hand was shaking when he reached out to her. As if asking forgiveness, he stroked her palm, wishing things could have been different.
She didn’t pull away. Instead, her hand curled around his, her face filled with confusion. ‘I can’t believe you’re alive.’
He sat up and she moved beside him. With one hand clasped in hers, he touched her nape. The