Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
K ate shivered as she tightened the wool cloak around her shoulders, watching Connor confer with Ewan near the edge of camp as a light rain fell and the wind picked up. Their heads were bent close together, voices too low to carry, but the tension in his stance told her everything she needed to know. Today was the day.
The exchange, the fake brooch for Cameron, seemed straightforward enough, but apparently nothing involving the MacDonalds was ever simple. Connor had made that abundantly clear.
“You should eat something,” Fergus said, appearing at her side with a bowl of steaming porridge. “The laird says we’ll be leaving within the hour.”
Kate accepted the bowl with a grateful nod, though her stomach twisted at the thought of food. Who would have ever thought she’d be excited to eat what she thought of as oatmeal. Where were banana slices, honey, and a few chopped pecans? “Thanks.”
“Dinna fash,” the older man said kindly. “The laird knows what he’s about. We’ll have Cameron home by nightfall.”
She hoped Fergus was right. The thought of Connor’s brother suffering at MacDonald hands made her sick to her stomach after the stories she’d heard the men telling when they thought she wasn’t listening.
Across the camp, he looked up, his gaze finding hers with unerring precision. Something passed between them, a wordless communication that made her breath catch. Then he was striding toward her, purpose in every line of his body.
“We leave in half an hour,” he said without preamble. “Are you ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” She nodded, setting aside her barely touched porridge.
His expression softened slightly. “You don’t have to come. You could wait here with Fergus?—”
“No,” she interrupted firmly. “I’m coming. Maybe I can help.”
How, she wasn’t entirely sure. She wasn’t a warrior or a healer, but something told her she needed to be there, that her presence might somehow make a difference, and to make sure the guidebook didn’t come true.
Connor studied her face for a long moment, then nodded. “Very well. But you’ll stay back during the exchange. No matter what happens, you remain with Ewan. Understood?”
This time, she didn’t argue. “Understood.”
“Good.” He hesitated, as if there was more he wanted to say, but instead turned away. “Half an hour,” he repeated, already moving toward the horses.
Kate watched him go, admiring the quiet confidence in his bearing despite the weight she knew he carried. The lives of his men, his brother’s safety, the future of his clan all rested on his shoulders.
How different he was from the men she knew in her time. There was nothing performative about Connor’s strength, nothing calculated about his courage. He simply was who he was, without apology or pretense.
And she was falling for him, hard and fast and against all reason.
The realization should have terrified her. Instead, it settled deep inside her where it felt right.
Oh my. She was in love with Connor MacLeod.
A man born more than three hundred years before her time, a man whose world was vastly different from hers, a man she would eventually have to leave behind because she had to go back. She didn’t belong here. Maybe she’d already messed up history, and the ripples were spreading through time. Her parents and sister must be frantic.
What if the MacDonald assassin she’d pushed over the battlements was an ancestor of her ex, Angus? Would he or someone in his family cease to exist? Or maybe Bronmuir Keep was now intact in her time?
The thoughts sent a pang through her so sharp it was almost physical. But there was no time to dwell on thoughts of ripples through time. Not now. Not with Cameron’s life hanging in the balance.
* * *
The weight of the fake brooch in Connor’s sporran was a constant reminder of what was at stake. The craftsman had done his work well. None but the most discerning eye could tell it from the original Bronmuir Brooch. He prayed it would be enough to fool the whoreson Dougal MacDonald.
He cast a glance over his shoulder, checking on Kate who rode just behind him with Ewan. She sat straighter in the saddle today, her movements more confident after days on horseback. The sight of her, determined despite her obvious apprehension, stirred something protective in his chest.
She shouldn’t be here. He should have insisted she remain at Bronmuir, safe behind the stone walls. But even as the thought formed, he knew it was futile. Kate was not a woman easily dissuaded once her mind was set. It was one of the qualities he most admired about her, and one that most frustrated him.
“We’re nearing the meeting place,” Ewan murmured, drawing his horse alongside Connor’s. “Just beyond that rise.”
He nodded, tension coiling in his gut. “Keep the men spread out. I want eyes in every direction.”
“Aye, and what of the lass?” Ewan asked quietly, with a meaningful glance toward Kate.
“She stays with you,” Connor replied firmly. “No matter what happens.”
Ewan’s expression was grim. “You think Dougal will betray us.”
It wasn’t a question. He had known Dougal MacDonald since boyhood, had crossed swords with him more times than he could count. The man was as treacherous as he was cunning.
“I think Dougal rarely does what’s expected,” Connor said carefully. “Be ready for anything.”
As they crested the hill, the meeting place came into view. A small clearing surrounded by ancient pines, their shadows long in the morning light. A group of riders waited at the far edge, their plaids marking them as MacDonalds.
Connor held up his hand, signaling his men to halt. “Stay alert,” he commanded, then turned to Kate. “Remember what I said. Stay with Ewan, no matter what.”
She nodded, her face pale. “Be careful,” she said softly.
He held her gaze for a heartbeat longer than necessary, then turned his horse toward the clearing, with two of his men flanking him. The rest of his men remained on the ridge, bows at the ready.
As they approached, Connor could make out Dougal at the center of the MacDonald party, his broad frame unmistakable even at a distance. There was no sign of Cameron.
“MacLeod,” Dougal called as they drew near. “I was beginning to think you’d lost your way.”
“MacDonald,” Connor replied coolly. “Where is my brother?”
Dougal’s smile was all teeth, no warmth. “Safe enough. For now.” He gestured to the men behind him. “Bring him.”
Two men disappeared into the trees, returning moments later supporting a third figure between them. Connor’s heart clenched at the sight of his brother. Cameron’s once-powerful frame was gaunt, his face bruised, his movements slow and pained as the men half-dragged him forward.
“What have you done to him?” Connor demanded, fury rising in his throat.
“Nothing he didn’t earn,” Dougal replied dismissively.
“He’s alive, isn’t he? More than can be said for the two men he killed trying to escape.”
Connor forced himself to breathe steadily, to think past the rage clouding his vision. Cameron was alive. That was what mattered. Everything else could be dealt with once they were safely away. A time would come when Dougal MacDonald no longer breathed.
“You have what you came for,” Dougal continued, nodding toward Cameron. “Now, where is my payment?”
Connor reached into his sporran and withdrew the brooch, holding it up so the morning light caught the gemstones. “The Bronmuir Brooch, as agreed.”
Dougal’s eyes narrowed with naked greed. “Bring it here.”
“Release my brother first,” Connor countered.
A tense silence fell over the clearing. Connor could feel Murtagh shifting slightly beside him, ready for trouble. Behind them, he knew Kate was watching, probably holding her breath.
Finally, Dougal nodded to his men. “Let him go.”
The MacDonalds released Cameron, who stumbled forward a few steps before steadying himself. His eyes, though dulled with pain, found Connor’s with fierce recognition.
“Go to Ewan,” Connor instructed quietly.
His brother nodded, making his way slowly across the clearing. Connor waited until his brother had reached Ewan’s side before urging his horse forward, the brooch held out before him.
Dougal reached for it eagerly, but Connor pulled back at the last moment. “Our business is concluded,” he said firmly. “I expect no further trouble from the MacDonalds.”
Dougal’s smile was cold. “For now,” he agreed, taking the brooch and examining it closely. “Though I can’t promise what the future might hold, especially with your sister carrying the bastard of the MacKenzie who killed one of my men.”
Connor’s jaw tightened at the deliberate provocation. “My sister and her child are under my protection. Remember that.”
“A fact I’m sure the MacKenzies will find interesting,” Dougal replied smoothly. “Given their new allegiance to William of Orange.”
The implication was clear. Dougal knew of Elspeth’s situation, knew of the political complications it presented for the MacLeods. It was a threat, thinly veiled but unmistakable.
“We’re done here,” Connor said flatly, turning his horse. “Ewan, let’s go.”
As they made their way back to the ridge where the rest of their men waited, Connor couldn’t shake the feeling that things had gone too smoothly. Dougal had given up Cameron with minimal resistance, barely examined the brooch. It wasn’t like him to miss an opportunity to press for further advantage.
“Something’s wrong,” he murmured to Ewan as they rejoined their party.
Ewan nodded grimly. “He’s planning something.”
“Let’s not wait to find out what,” Connor decided. “We make for Elspeth’s cottage, then home to Bronmuir. Fast as we can.”
Kate had moved to Cameron’s side, her face a mask of concern as she took in his condition. “He needs a healer,” she said quietly as Connor approached.
“Aye,” Connor agreed, noting the unnatural pallor of his brother’s skin, the way he held himself, as if every movement caused pain. “Elspeth has some skill with herbs. She can see to him until we reach Bronmuir.”
Cameron managed a weak smile. “I’m not dead yet, little brother. No need to look so grim.”
Despite everything, a smile broke out across his face. Trust his brother to jest even now. “Save your strength,” he advised. “We’ve a hard ride ahead.”
As they set off, he couldn’t shake his unease. Dougal had capitulated too easily, had barely glanced at the brooch. Something wasn’t right.
He just prayed they’d be far away before he discovered what it was.
* * *
Kate kept close to Cameron as they rode, watching with growing concern as he listed in the saddle, his face gray with exhaustion, sweat dripping down his face. The man was clearly in no condition for a hard journey, but they had little choice. Connor’s urgency was infectious, his certainty that Dougal had some trick planned, spurred them all to greater speed.
“How much farther back to Elspeth’s?” she asked Ewan, who rode on Cameron’s other side, ready to catch him should he fall.
“Not far now,” Ewan replied, constantly scanning the surrounding hills. “Another hour, perhaps less.”
Cameron gave a soft grunt that might have been a laugh. “I never thought I’d be so eager to see our headstrong sister again.”
“She’s had a tough time,” Kate told him. “Grown up, I think.”
“Hardship will do that,” Cameron agreed, wincing as his horse jolted over the uneven ground. “Though I’d have preferred she learn her lessons some other way.”
They had just entered a narrow pass between two hills when Connor suddenly raised his hand, signaling a halt. The company froze, alert and wary.
“What is it?” Kate whispered to Ewan.
He shook his head slightly, one hand moving to the hilt of his sword. “Not sure. He senses something.”
Connor was perfectly still atop his mount, listening intently. Then, with a fluid motion that spoke of years of training, he drew his sword.
“Ambush!” he shouted, just as arrows began to rain down from the hills on either side.
Chaos erupted. Men shouted, horses reared, and the clash of steel on steel filled the air as MacDonald warriors poured from the rocks above. She watched in horror as one of Connor’s men fell, an arrow protruding from his chest.
“Get to the cottage!” Connor bellowed, cutting down a MacDonald who had leapt onto his horse. “Ewan, take Kate and Cameron! Go!”
Ewan didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the reins of Kate’s horse with one hand and Cameron’s with the other, spurring his own mount forward. “Hold tight!” he shouted.
Kate clung to her saddle as they galloped through the pass, arrows whistling past them. She caught a last glimpse of Connor, sword flashing in the sunlight as he fought off two attackers at once, before a bend in the path took him from her view.
They rode hard, the sounds of battle fading behind them. Cameron was barely conscious now, slumped over his horse’s neck, held in place only by Ewan’s grip on his arm.
“Almost there,” Ewan called encouragingly. “Just ahead!”
Through the trees, Kate could make out the small stone cottage, smoke rising from its chimney. Elspeth must have seen them coming, for she appeared in the doorway, her expression changing from welcome to alarm as she took in their state.
“What’s happened?” she cried as they drew up before the cottage. “Where’s Connor?”
“Ambush,” Ewan explained tersely, dismounting in one fluid motion. “MacDonalds. The laird ordered us ahead while he and the others held them off.”
Elspeth’s face paled. “Cameron,” she breathed, seeing her eldest brother’s condition for the first time. “Quickly, bring him inside.”
Between them, Ewan and Kate managed to get Cameron off his horse and into the cottage. They laid him gently on Elspeth’s narrow bed, where he groaned, his eyes fluttering open.
“Elspeth,” he murmured, a faint smile touching his lips. “Still as bonnie as ever, even with a babe in your belly.”
“And you’re still a silver-tongued devil,” she retorted, though her hands were gentle as she examined his wounds. “Even half-dead.”
Kate hovered nearby, unsure how to help. “What can I do?”
Elspeth glanced up, her expression grim. “Heat water. There’s a pot by the fire, and clean cloth in that chest. We need to clean his wounds.”
As Kate hurried to obey, Ewan moved to the door. “I’m going back,” he announced. “The laird needs me.”
“Be careful,” Kate said, pausing in her task. “Please.”
He nodded once, then was gone, the sound of hoofbeats fading rapidly as he rode back toward the battle.
Elspeth worked quickly as she cut away Cameron’s tattered linen shirt, revealing a patchwork of bruises and half-healed cuts across his torso. But it was the wound across his side that drew a sharp intake of breath from both women. A deep gash, the edges inflamed and seeping.
“This is bad,” Elspeth murmured, pressing a clean cloth to the wound. “The blade was dirty.”
Cameron’s eyes were clearer now, watching his sister with a mixture of pride and resignation. “Always the clever one,” he said softly. “Even as a wee lass.”
“Save your strength,” Elspeth admonished, though her voice caught. “You’ll need it to heal.”
Kate brought the heated water and rags, watching as his sister cleaned the wound with steady hands. “Will he be alright?” she asked quietly.
Elspeth’s hesitation was answer enough. “We’ll do what we can,” she said finally.
Outside, the sounds of conflict grew closer. Shouts and the clash of steel, the thunder of hooves. Kate moved to the window, peering out anxiously.
“Connor,” she breathed, spotting him among the melee. He fought like a man possessed, his sword a blur of motion as he cut down one MacDonald after another. Even from a distance, she could see blood on his face, but he moved with the fluid grace of a warrior, seemingly untouched by the surrounding chaos.
Relief flooded her, followed immediately by fear as she counted the combatants. The MacDonalds outnumbered Connor’s men at least two to one.
“They need help,” she said, turning back to Elspeth.
The other woman nodded grimly. “In the corner, behind that sack of grain. You’ll find a bow and quiver.”
Kate blinked in surprise. “You have weapons?”
“A woman alone can’t be too careful,” Elspeth replied. “Can you shoot?”
Kate thought of the archery lessons she’d taken in college, a brief phase inspired by The Hunger Games . Not exactly the same as ancient combat, but the principles couldn’t be that different, right? Other than the whole shooting at a man instead of a target.
“Yes,” she said with more confidence than she felt, hands shaking. “I can shoot.” But at a real person? She wasn’t so sure.
Elspeth nodded toward the window. “Then help my brother. I’ll tend to Cameron.”
Kate retrieved the bow, smaller and lighter than she’d expected, and the quiver of arrows. Her heart pounded as she positioned herself at the window, nocking an arrow with shaking hands.
The battle had moved closer to the cottage now, spilling into the small clearing before it. She could see Connor clearly, fighting back-to-back with one of his men, surrounded by MacDonalds.
She drew the bow, sighted along the arrow, and released.
The arrow flew wide, missing its target by several feet. Kate cursed under her breath, nocking another arrow. This time, she took a deep breath, steadying herself before drawing back the string.
The arrow found its mark in the shoulder of a MacDonald warrior who had been about to strike at Connor from behind. The man howled in pain, dropping his sword, and Connor whirled around to dispatch him with a single stroke.
For a heartbeat, Connor’s eyes met hers through the window. Surprise flickered across his face, followed by something that might have been pride, before he turned back to the fight.
Emboldened, Kate continued to provide what cover she could from the window, though her aim was far from perfect. She managed to wound two more MacDonalds, distracting them long enough for Connor’s men to gain the advantage.
The tide of battle seemed to be turning. The MacDonalds, realizing they were losing, began to fall back. Several broke away entirely, fleeing into the surrounding woods.
“They’re retreating,” Kate called over her shoulder to Elspeth.
“Thank the saints,” Elspeth murmured, not looking up from her work on Cameron. “Though they’ll be back, and in greater numbers next time.”
The thought sent a chill through Kate. They couldn’t stay here, not with Cameron injured and Elspeth pregnant. They needed to reach Bronmuir, where stone walls and clansmen could protect them.
Outside, Connor was giving orders, his men moving quickly to secure the area and tend to the wounded. Kate set down the bow and hurried to the door, relief making her knees go weak as she watched Connor stride toward the cottage, bloodied but whole.
“Connor!” she called, unable to keep the joy from her voice.
He looked up, his grim expression softening as their eyes met.
“Ye are damn good with an arrow, Kate.” In three long strides, he was before her, hands coming up to cradle her face with surprising gentleness.
“You’re not hurt?” he demanded, his gaze searching her face.
“No, I’m fine,” she assured him. “But Cameron?—”
His expression darkened. “How bad?”
“It’s not good,” she admitted. “Elspeth is doing what she can, but...”
He nodded once, releasing her to stride into the cottage. Kate followed, watching as he knelt beside the bed where his brother lay.
“Cameron,” Connor said softly, taking his brother’s hand.
Cameron’s eyes fluttered open, recognition dawning slowly. “Little brother,” he murmured. “Did we win?”
“Aye, for now,” Connor replied. “But we need to move. The MacDonalds will be back, and in greater numbers.”
Cameron attempted a smile that was more grimace than a grin. “Then you’d best get me on a horse. I’m not dying in some cottage in the middle of nowhere.”
Elspeth made a small sound of distress. “He shouldn’t be moved. The wound?—”
“Will kill me whether I’m here or at Bronmuir,” Cameron finished for her. “At least at home, I might die in my own bed.”
The blunt assessment silenced them all. Tears pricked at her eyes, but Kate blinked them away. This wasn’t the time for weakness.
“We’ll place him in the cart,” Connor decided. “With blankets to cushion the ride. It will be easier on him than on horseback.”
His sister nodded, already gathering her supplies. “I’ll need to pack my things. It won’t take long.”
“Make haste,” Connor urged. “We leave as soon as possible.”
As the siblings conferred, Kate slipped outside to where Ewan was organizing the remaining men. Three had fallen in the ambush, their bodies now laid out respectfully beneath their plaids. The sight made her stomach clench with grief and anger.
“How many MacDonalds escaped?” she asked Ewan.
“Three, maybe four,” he replied grimly. “Enough to bring back reinforcements.”
“Then we need to hurry,” she said, though she worried about Cameron’s ability to withstand the journey ahead.
Ewan nodded, already turning to direct the men in preparing the cart for Cameron and the dead. Kate watched them work, admiring their efficiency despite their own wounds and exhaustion.
These were good men, loyal to their laird and clan. She thought of the three who had fallen, wondering about the families they left behind, the lives cut short because of a feud that seemed to have no end.
“It’s not your fault,” Connor’s voice came from behind her.
She turned to find him watching her, his expression somber. “I know,” she said. “It’s just... so senseless.”
“Aye,” he agreed quietly. “Though sense has little to do with clan feuds. They’re born of pride and vengeance, fed by memory and blood, lasting for generations.”
“There has to be a better way,” she insisted.
His smile was tinged with sadness. “Perhaps. But not today.” He glanced toward the cottage where his siblings waited. “Today, we get them home. Tomorrow... We’ll see what tomorrow brings.”
Within the hour, they were ready to depart. Elspeth’s few possessions were loaded into the small cart, alongside the dead, and Cameron, who lay on a bed of blankets and straw. He drifted in and out of consciousness, his face ashen against the dark plaid that covered him.
“Stay with him,” Connor instructed Elspeth as they prepared to ride out. “Watch for any change.”
She nodded. “I will.”
As their small, battered company set off toward Bronmuir, Kate found herself riding beside the wagon, keeping a constant vigil over Cameron. Despite Elspeth’s herbal remedies and careful bandaging, his condition was deteriorating. His breathing grew more labored with each passing mile, his skin hot to the touch despite the cool air.
“Hold on,” Kate murmured, though she wasn’t sure if he could hear her. “We’re going home. Just hold on.”
The journey seemed endless, each mile stretching before them like a lifetime. They traveled as quickly as they dared, Connor setting a pace that balanced urgency against Cameron’s fragile state.
Twice they stopped to rest the horses and check on Cameron. Each time, Elspeth redressed his wounds, her face growing more drawn as she noted his worsening condition.
“He’s weakening,” she whispered to Kate during their second stop. “The wounds are putrid.”
Her heart sank. “Is there nothing more we can do?”
Elspeth shook her head, tears glistening in her eyes. “Pray,” she said simply. “Pray he lives long enough to see Bronmuir again.”
As they continued their journey, the landscape gradually changed, becoming more familiar. She recognized landmarks from their outward journey. A tumbling stream and a rocky outcrop that resembled a sleeping giant.
“We’re close,” Ewan announced, as the sun began its descent. “Another hour, perhaps less.”
The news seemed to breathe new life into their weary company. Even the horses sensed the proximity of home, their pace quickening despite their fatigue.
Kate leaned over the edge of the cart to speak to Cameron, who had been silent for the past hour. “We’re almost home,” she told him. “Bronmuir is just ahead.”
To her surprise, his eyes opened, clearer than they had been since they’d found him. “I knew he’d come,” he said softly. “Told those MacDonald bastards my brother would never abandon me.”
“Never,” she agreed, her throat tight with emotion. “Connor would move heaven and earth for you.”
Cameron’s smile was ghostly. “And for you, I think. Though he’s too stubborn to admit it yet.”
Before Kate could respond to this startling observation, Cameron’s eyes drifted closed again, his breathing shallow but steady.
As the sun touched the horizon, casting long shadows across the hills, the silhouette of Bronmuir Keep appeared in the distance, its stone towers rising proudly against the evening sky.
“Home,” Elspeth breathed, her voice thick with emotion. “I never thought to see it again.”