Highland Seer Read online

  Bram stood over his opponent, panting, blood dripping from a cut on his cheek, then turned to grin at Donal. But his grin quickly faded as he took note of the expression on Donal’s face, and of the audience he had. Donal saw recognition light in his eyes—aye, he saw Donal schooling the lads. He understood there’d likely more schooling for him later. Donal nodded, his message delivered. Bram headed for the door to the bailey, where he should have gone in the beginning, without stopping to talk to Jenny MacKyrie.

  “Now, lads,” Donal said, turning back to his students, “help Miss Jenny with poor Micheil there while I go have a talk with Bram. And remember what I told ye.”

  “Aye,” came the soprano chorus as the lads scrambled from their seat to run to their prostrate clansman.

  Jenny smiled and followed them, hushing them when they started to tell Micheil he was “stupid to be angry.”

  Donal hoped Micheil still slept or he’d have worried the lads would make him angry again. But Jenny would settle them all down. She’d seen the trouble she’d caused and would not let more be started on her account.

  But this made twice in two days the Lathans had embarrassed the young MacKyrie warlord. Which wouldn’t sit well at all.

  On top of that, Micheil’s message had been clear. MacKyrie women were not to be trifled with. Donal worried lest his interest in Ellie become apparent—or hers in him. Then Micheil would likely start a brawl the likes of which the MacKyries hadn’t seen since before the massacre at Flodden killed off their fighting men. And the last thing Donal wanted to do was add to the carnage these people had already suffered.

  ****

  Standing by her high table seat in the great hall, Ellie MacKyrie looked down on the big men she’d called to her presence. She put on her best “Laird MacKyrie” face and glowered at the tops of their downturned heads.

  She’d remain on her feet for this meeting, hoping to accomplish with her elevated position and irritation what she could not with her own lesser height. Jamie, Donal, Bram, and Micheil stood, too. She would not give them leave to sit.

  She’d just come from Fergus’s sickbed. The old man hadn’t made as much progress toward recovery as fast as she’d hoped, so she was in no mood to deal with more trouble right now. “Brawling in my hall? This I willna tolerate.”

  “Lady, I’m sorry,” Jamie replied, contrite and lacking his usual cheerful demeanor.

  Surely he had given Bram a lecture fit to pin back his ears once he’d heard of the disturbance, and would not spare Donal the same for allowing the fight to go on—even as a lesson for some of the MacKyrie lads. Though it had been as clever an attempt to make a silk purse out of this sow’s ear as she’d ever seen, she had to put a stop to such displays in her hall.

  And Micheil. Had he lost all sense? Aye, she’d expressed her displeasure already, and thoroughly, too. She had no objections to the Lathans talking to the MacKyrie people, women included. Knowing Jenny as she did, Ellie suspected any flirting taking place had started with her, not that Ellie could blame her. These Lathans were a braw lot, big, muscular, and pleasing to look upon. Even Donal, the fiercest and most battle-scarred, who never failed to draw her eye. MacKyrie women would look upon them with favor even if they hadn’t already done the clan an important service. What would Micheil think of that? Now was certainly not the time to find out. Micheil so wished for the MacKyries to recover on their own, he looked for slights from every stranger.

  Well, perhaps he had given her an unlooked-for advantage. Jamie would feel he owed her something for the unseemly disturbance in her hall.

  Micheil stood before her, head down. How it must gall him to be shoulder-to-shoulder with these Lathans, facing her wrath, instead of at her side, lording over them.

  She forced back a smile of satisfaction. Aye, because of this, the Lathans’ sense of honor would demand they make amends. Jamie’s determination to get her signature on the treaty made her doubly certain her bargaining position had just gotten stronger.

  Donal picked that moment to look up and meet her gaze—squarely, with no hesitation in his light eyes. How like him, so sure of himself, never backing down. His dark blond hair gleamed in the rays of sunlight slanting through the clerestory windows high in the outer walls of the hall. But his eyes looked like chips of ice in winter. A chill ran down her back. Did they reflect the man or hide a blaze he’d kept from her so far?

  Though she fought to remain calm, Ellie could feel the heat of a blush beginning to stain her cheeks.

  Donal raised one eyebrow.

  Good. Let him think her color arose from anger over his and Bram’s actions, not from the desire that flooded her when she looked upon him. He’d learn, they’d all learn, to tread carefully where she was concerned. She might be a woman, aye, but never a helpless maid.

  Laird. She must be laird now, to school these massive warriors to her way of thinking.

  “I accept yer apology,” she answered Jamie. “I’ll take yer bond that this willna happen again, or the negotiation will be over and ye’ll be on yer way back to yer laird without MacKyrie.”

  Ellie hid a smile as Jamie nudged Bram and Donal, arrayed on either side of him. “Sorry we are, as well,” Bram added.

  “Aye.”

  She waited, but it appeared Donal had nothing else to say on the matter.

  With a sniff, she turned her attention to Micheil. A moment passed before the intent behind her pointed stare sank past his wounded pride.

  “I regret my actions, Laird. It willna happen again...” He paused for a moment.

  She caught the glint in his eye, as if he considered adding “in the hall” but quickly thought better of it. She frowned at him.

  He closed his mouth and studied the floor.

  “Very well. We’ll put that behind us.” She took her seat to signal an end to the lecture. “But it does bring the matter of the treaty to mind. What would have happened if this incident”—and here she paused and gave each of them one more scathing look—“had instead been an invasion? The battle wouldha been lost before help could reach us.”

  “If an invader managed to break into yer keep, aye. But if ye saw an invader approaching yer gates, ye could send for help from the clans nearby.”

  “The clans nearby are likely to be the invaders at the gate,” Micheil muttered.

  Ellie nodded. “Micheil speaks rightly. I see little value in this treaty as it applies to us. But I do see a way I could be persuaded to sign.”

  It amused her to see Jamie perk up, standing straighter with a hint of his usual joviality returning to his face.

  “I’d be pleased to ken what that is, Laird,” he replied with a smile.

  A charmer, this one. No matter. Either he would agree or they would continue to talk until she convinced him of her seriousness. She supposed she should allow them to sit down. But nay, let them continue to stand before her. It would serve as a reminder that she was in charge. That they were not equals. She sat straighter and took a breath. Time to cast the dice, while she had the advantage. “I require Donal McNabb’s services for a period of at least a year, better two, to train up my lads so we willna be dependent on the assistance of other clans. If ye’re willing to consider my condition, then we have something to discuss.”

  Jamie’s smile had disappeared while she talked. Donal’s eyes had widened and his lips had parted, like he’d taken a punch to the gut. Surprised, certainly. Perhaps even shocked. He looked pale, until the red started creeping back into his skin. Aye, he’d told her he did not plan to stay. She regretted surprising him in this way, but if Jamie could order it, she wanted him to do it. She counted on his sense of honor to give her what she wanted.

  Donal turned to Jamie.

  For a moment, Ellie held her breath. If he revealed that she’d already approached him about this and he’d turned her down, Jamie might refuse her demand.

  Jamie glanced at Donal, then shook his head.

  Donal’s jaw clenched but he remained silent.


  “Ye ask much, Laird MacKyrie, to keep the Lathan arms master for a year or more.”

  Ellie leaned forward to look Jamie in the eye. “Ye ask much of clan MacKyrie, to sign a treaty to defend ourselves and the other signatories with no more fighting force than we currently possess. If ye wish a strong alliance, ye must help make us strong. We have lads aplenty who can soon grow into warriors worthy of such an alliance. We have an arms master, aye,” she said as she glanced Micheil’s way. His back ramrod stiff, he stared toward the doorway as if trying to wish himself away from here, or simply to ignore the discussion, but she saw his brow furrow and knew he listened. “One who was merely a promising lad in training four years ago. One who has done all he can since then for the good of the clan. But we will have little success unless our lads are well trained by an expert. If they canna fight, or fight poorly, they are of no use to their clan or to the treaty.”

  Jamie inclined his head. Not a bow, but an acknowledgement. “I canna disagree.”

  Heartened, Ellie forged ahead. “Ye have such a master in Donal MacNabb. I have seen the result of his tutelage in yer men. I ask the use of his skills for long enough to ensure my lads have a decent chance to prevail against any who would be our enemy.”

  Ellie kept her gaze firmly on Jamie, refusing to give Donal the chance to thrust himself into the negotiation. His objection now would distract Jamie from agreeing to the terms she set.

  “I understand why ye ask this.” Jamie spoke softly, still thoughtful. He gazed off into the heights of the hall for a moment and Ellie held her breath. Then he returned his attention to her. “I regret I am no’ at liberty to assign the Lathan arms master, certainly not for such a lengthy period, without advising the Lathan laird. If ye would allow me to send a runner, perhaps we could resolve this in due time.”

  Ellie’s jaw clenched. What was this? “I apologize. I understood ye to be the Lathan laird’s ambassador, with full authority to speak for him. How inconvenient it must be to have to consult from such a distance.”

  Her barb hit home, no doubt about it. Jamie flared red across his nose and cheeks, then drew himself up even further, took a deep breath and spoke. “Lady, I do no’ consult. I wish to apprise my laird of the potential loss of the services of a key member of the clan. I understand yer position and am sympathetic. But yers are not the only equities at stake here. The Lathan sets a high store by Donal MacNabb’s skill, service, and friendship.”

  Ellie risked a glance at Donal. He appeared to be biting his tongue. His jaw clenched so tightly, she wondered why she could not hear his teeth cracking as they talked.

  Micheil stood, head down, smarting, she sensed, from this discussion of his inadequacies, though they were no fault of his. A wave of pity tightened her throat.

  “I see this discussion was ill-timed, coming so soon on the heels of violence in this very hall. We will adjourn for now.” Ellie stood. “Thank ye, gentlemen, for yer attention. I will see ye at the evening meal. I hope there willna be any further misunderstandings in the meantime.” With a nod she hoped appeared as lairdly as her stiff back would allow, she crossed the hall and ascended the stairs. Let them chew on that for a while.

  ****

  Donal paced—something he never did. If ever there’d been an occasion for it, this was it. But damn it, Jamie’s public room was too small to work up a proper stride. He could only take three or four steps before he had to turn, losing all the momentum he’d built to burn off some of the anger consuming him. The fact that as he paced, he had to avoid tripping over Jamie’s long legs, stretched out in front of the hearth, added fuel to the fire of his irritation.

  Damn her. He’d already refused her. Hadn’t he been clear enough? Yet she’d brought up keeping him here—formally, as laird—to Jamie, as Lathan ambassador. While he stood by, unable to interrupt or object. Seething. Damn her.

  She was daft. Surely the strain of being laird had to be too much for any woman. Add to that a clan decimated by the King’s folly...or had she been into the MacKyrie whisky? Nay, not this early in the day. On second thought, perhaps that was not a bad idea. He could use a wee dram or three right now.

  “Stop yer pacing, Donal. Ye’re making me dizzy.”

  Jamie’s tone sounded as mild as ever, but Donal could see in the set of his shoulders the discussion with the MacKyrie still aggravated him. Donal muttered an oath.

  “Ye ken I willna leave without the laird’s signature on the treaty. Toran sent us to do a job. I’m determined to do it. The lady will bend, given time and no other incidents like the one in the hall this morning. What were ye thinking?”

  “What was I thinking? Better ye ken what I’m thinking now. This is a lost cause. We’ve got five clans agreed on the treaty. Toran willna miss a sixth. This one is farthest away—too far and too damaged to be of much use, if ye ask me.”

  “This clan controls a key pass through the mountains.”

  He gestured toward the windows on the outer wall. “There are other ways through these peaks. Other clans that make whisky. This one is no’ unique.”

  “What’s stuck in yer craw?”

  Donal stopped his pacing and turned to face Jamie. His friend watched him with a quizzical lift to one eyebrow and a hint of his habitual grin.

  “The MacKyrie is determined to see me stay. I’ve no interest in doing that.”

  “Dinna lie to me,” he scoffed. “I’ve been too long acquainted with ye for that to work. I’ve seen the way ye look at her, and she at ye. When ye’re in the room, I can scarce get her to focus on the pearls of wisdom I’m droppin’ at her feet.”

  Donal waved away Jamie’s nonsense. “Ye’re seeing things, Jamie. Perhaps Aileana didn’t do as good a job patching ye up as we thought after that Lowlander skewered ye with his arrow. Or ye had a head wound she missed.”

  “Why can’t ye bend a little and agree to stay for a while? She’s only asked for a year.”

  “Or more.”

  “That’s no’ yer entire life. She’s bargaining for ye, can ye no’ see it? I’m sure we can get her to agree to six months or less. It’s no’ like she’s askin’ for ye to stay forever.”

  If only Jamie knew what he risked. Six months could easily become forever if Donal failed to keep himself under control. And dammit, Ellie had shown herself determined to get under his skin. As had Jamie, though in a very different way.

  His hands clenched into fists as he glared at his friend. “I’m to be a pawn moved about the board for the sake of a signature on a piece of paper?”

  Jamie’s eyes widened. “Nay, of course no’.”

  “Ye say that now, but I saw ye considering her request. Ye’re still considering it or we wouldna be having this discussion.”

  Jamie sat up straighter.

  Donal knew his barb had hit home.

  “It’s my job to consider everything the laird asks for, especially as it could benefit Clan Lathan.”

  Donal crossed his arms over his chest. “And how does my absence benefit clan Lathan, do ye think?”

  Jamie shook his head. “I havena said it does. But yer presence here could.”

  Or it could result in a war between their clans, not that Donal could admit to Jamie how Ellie had tried to entice him to stay. “Ach, I’ve had enough of this foolishness for today.” Donal headed for the door. “Make as many deals as ye like, Jamie. Just as long as ye leave me out of them.”

  He stormed out the door, headed for his room. As he passed a window, the thought of fresh air changed his mind. He headed downstairs out into the bailey, intending to saddle a horse and ride. Aye, perhaps all the way back to the Aerie.

  Damn, snow had started falling. The afternoon was too far gone for him to make it through the mountain pass before dark, and it would be too dangerous after dark, especially if snow drifted up in the pass. Besides, he would not abandon Jamie and the others. He had no business even thinking about leaving the glen. Leaving them. Leaving Ellie.

  Stymied, he headed
for the stairs to the battlements. A surprise inspection of the guard would be just the thing to distract him. Then he’d sleep on it. Maybe a solution would come to him in a dream. That seemed to work around here—at least for the MacKyrie Seer. If not, he’d have to see what the situation was in the morning.

  Chapter 5

  The saints be praised, dinner was over. Ellie stalked the halls of her keep, walking off her frustration. Micheil had spent the entire dinner glaring at the Lathans. Bram had reciprocated, glaring back. Neither had dared to make a move in the laird’s presence, but the tension between them had unsettled her nonetheless. She’d barely tasted her food.

  Even Jamie, normally easy going and even jovial, had been uncharacteristically quiet. Reacting to the tension as she had, or did he have something else on his mind? And Donal had been conspicuous by his absence. Where was the arms master?

  She found the answer to her question in the hallway leading past her solar to the guest quarters. He strode toward her, fists clenched at his sides, a fierce scowl on his face. Snow still dusted his shoulders. So he’d been out in the weather for quite a while or all of it would have melted by the time he made it upstairs. He hadn’t seen her. For a moment, Ellie considered ducking into a side corridor out of his view.

  But then she reconsidered. She’d wanted an opportunity to beard the lion. He gave her the perfect one, only she’d do it in her den, not his.

  She pitched her voice low and spoke softly so as not to startle him. “Donal MacNabb, well met.”

  His reaction would have been amusing if not for the seriousness of what she was about to attempt. He halted in mid-stride, right foot levitated above the floor as muscle tension in his strong thighs held it frozen in place. His expression didn’t change, but his hands clenched even tighter before he made the effort to open them and finish taking the step toward her.

  The fact that he hadn’t fallen at her feet impressed her. But nay, this man had too much control to do that—literally or figuratively.

  “Laird MacKyrie.” His greeting was delivered in a gruff tone, as if he had not used his voice for hours yet forbore to clear his throat before speaking.