The Chief Read online

  To hell with Scotland; his duty was to his clan. “You sound like your blasted cousin.”

  “Angus Og is a wise man—think about it.” And with that he finally left him alone.

  Damn MacSorley to Hades! Tor didn’t need his opinion. He’d done his own analysis—many times over. Even if MacSorley was right, nothing had changed. He still could not justify involving his clan in a war that did not threaten them.

  Two more weeks, he thought. Two more weeks and his obligation would be fulfilled. The danger of discovery—and his treasonous training of men for Bruce—would be over. He would have satisfied his part of the bargain by training the men and succeeded in getting Nicolson off his back.

  Things would go back to the way they were, even if it killed him to think of his men fighting without him: He would go back to being neutral in Scotland’s war and in the feud between MacDougall and MacDonald.

  No matter how much he personally wanted otherwise, his duty to his clan always came first. Always.

  —

  If Christina had been waiting for the perfect opportunity to do something important, she knew this was it.

  Knowing how adamant Tor had been about her leaving the castle, she searched for Lady Janet or Colyne—both of whom she knew Tor trusted—but was unable to find either. Not daring to involve anyone else, she knew she had to try to find him herself. She wasn’t sure he was at the broch, but given the note it seemed likely.

  It was easier than she expected. The only difficulty was in attempting to get on a birlinn to the village. The guardsman at the dock had initially refused to allow her to go. She was at a loss as to what to do until she remembered her husband’s vow. Apparently, he’d kept his word to inform his men of her condition to their marriage, because when she reminded the guardsman that a birlinn was to be at her disposal whenever she wished to go, he relented.

  She allowed a handful of guardsmen to accompany her to the church, but then insisted that she would be fine from there. Once they’d left, she’d made her way back to the forest, retracing the steps she’d taken to the broch that first time. It was dark, and she’d not dared bring a torch, but fortunately the moon was nearly full and bright enough to penetrate the gossamer veil of mist that clouded the cool night air. She was too worried to be scared; her biggest fear was that she wouldn’t remember how to get there.

  She walked slowly and purposefully, keeping her head down to watch her footing. The ground was uneven and she stumbled more than once. But she was nearly there. A few more minutes and she would be near the place where she’d watched from the woods.

  She stopped, checking behind her again to make sure she wasn’t being followed. All she saw was the tall, menacing shadows of trees. But she couldn’t shake the sensation that she was being watched. It was perfectly quiet—too quiet.

  All of a sudden she felt herself wrenched against a steel-clad chest, the unmistakable cold edge of a dirk pressed against her neck.

  A voice growled in her ear. “Your name, lass.”

  This time it wasn’t her husband. “Lady Christina,” she stammered. “Wife of the Chief of MacLeod.”

  He swore, turned her around, and tossed back her hood.

  She found herself staring into the angry gaze of Sir Alexander Seton. Taking advantage of his surprise, she curtsied and said, “Sir Alex, it’s been a long time.”

  “My lady,” he bowed automatically, always the gallant knight no matter the circumstances. “What are you doing out here?”

  “One of my husband’s men has betrayed him and I intercepted a message. An attack is planned for tonight and I had to warn him.”

  His expression hardened. “You’re sure about this?”

  She nodded.

  Sir Alex gave her a long look. “You’d better be.”

  On that ominous note, something long and metal—a farming tool, perhaps?—emerged from the shadows behind his head, coming down hard on his steel bascinet. With a pained grunt, he crumpled in a mail-clad heap at her feet.

  She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye, seeing a figure in a dark cloak emerge from the shadows. She opened her mouth to scream. Too late. Something hard hit the back of her head. She had the strangest thought that she heard a muffled “sorry,” before darkness swallowed her.

  —

  Christina woke to the non-too-gentle sounds of a slap and “damn fool Englishman.” At first she thought the voice was directed at her, but when she opened her eyes it was to see an enormous, fearsome-looking warrior leaning over Sir Alex, attempting to rouse him.

  She’d seen him before. Dark, with a heavy brow and a face more rugged than handsome, he looked like a man who’d been in too many late-night tavern brawls. Then she remembered: He was the warrior who’d lifted the big boulder as if it had weighed next to nothing.

  She must have made a sound because he left Sir Alex’s side and immediately came to hers. “Are you all right, lass?”

  “I think so.” He helped her sit up. A moment of dizziness quickly cleared. Reaching around behind her head, she felt a small lump but thankfully no blood. She was conscious of his heavy gaze on her. “Sir Alex? Is he all right?” she asked.

  His eyes narrowed. “You know the Englishman?”

  She realized she hadn’t told him who she was. “I’m Lady Christina Fraser.”

  If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. “MacLeod’s wife?”

  She nodded. “And you are…?”

  He hesitated, then said, “Raider.” Apparently, he didn’t want to tell her his name, begging the question why.

  “You are from the borders?”

  She saw the spark of surprise in his gaze—she’d guessed the source of the epithet correctly.

  “What are you doing out here?” he asked, changing the subject. “What happened?”

  It all came back to her in a rush and she jumped to her feet in panic. How long had she been unconscious? “What time is it?” she asked frantically. Before he could answer, she grabbed him by the front of his cotun. He didn’t budge an inch. Goodness gracious, he was even larger than her husband. What was wrong with these Highland warriors? Were they all built like mountains? “I’ll explain everything, but there is no time. You must take me to my husband.”

  He didn’t look happy about it, but her tone must have impressed upon him the urgency of the situation. “Can you walk?”

  She nodded, and he helped her to her feet. Sir Alex was a large man, but this border “Raider” lifted him off the ground and tossed him like a bag of flour over his shoulder—none too gently, either. It seemed he had no fondness for the young knight. Without further discussion, he led her through the trees.

  When they entered the clearing before the broch, he hooted like an owl, obviously giving some kind of signal. Despite the time of night, there were a handful of men practicing with various weapons—swords and axes, from what she could tell. A man stood at the entry, and she knew from the size of the shadow that it was her husband. Her heart filled with relief to know that she had arrived in time. She’d done it.

  He started walking toward her and she ran forward to meet him. The others gathered round, curious as to what was going on.

  “Christina?” he asked, his voice sharp with disbelief. “What’s happened? Why are you here? I thought I warned you never to come here again.”

  She heard the spark of anger and rushed into his arms before it could flare. They closed around her automatically, but he looked away from her long enough to see the big man drop Sir Alex at his feet. Christina was relieved to see the young knight was stirring.

  Tor swore and grabbed her by the shoulders, his eyes raking her from head to toe. “Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head. “A bump on the head, that’s all. This man Raider found us.” Tor raised a questioning brow, but the brawny warrior merely shrugged as if to say he would explain later.

  “Who did this to you?” his voice was as cold and deadly as she’d ever heard it.

  “I don�