Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Clan Lands of MacDonald of Sleat
Laird Harris MacDonald of Sleat had been sleeping rough for more nights than he cared to remember.
Now, he was preparing for yet another night in that cursed forest clearing, half frozen, under the stars.
Only, of course the wretched stars weren’t visible, hidden as they were by heavy clouds still deciding whether to snow or not.
He pulled his fur cloak around him and sat on the chair draped with more furs, that had been especially carried there for his comfort.
He scowled, noting the way his men stepped back. They knew to keep their distance. He’d been in a foul mood since their initial ambush had failed to bring him the Lady Tyra as he’d demanded. It had worsened to a white-hot rage since the failure of the second ambush only a matter of days ago.
He itched to get his hands around the vixen’s slender throat and squeeze the life out of her. He licked his lips, imagining the look of terror in her eyes as he inflicted the various punishments he’d described to her in his notes.
He closed his eyes momentarily, a vicious smile quirking his lips. She’d shamed him by breaking his betrothal and now she was sheltering in the Mackenzie castle, hiding behind the might of the great Clan Mackenzie. No doubt, certain she’d bested him and was well out of his reach.
Well, he would surprise her still.
He and his men were camped at the furthest ends of his lands, on the shore of Loch Alsh. Why, from here he could almost see the lights of Eilean Donan. It was but a short sail and he’d be on the island before anyone was aware of the invasion.
“God’s blood,” he muttered to Stirling, his closest commander. “Ye men are as good as useless.”
“Laird MacDonald,” Stirling began, keeping his tone as meek as he could. His Laird had been known to run through with his sword a man who dared to caution the Laird’s plans. Laird Harris MacDonald would have his way at all costs.
“What is it lad?” Harris said curtly.
“The men have been keeping careful watch on Eilean Donan. Two days ago, two birlinns arrived from the north.”
“And?”
“I believe it was a visit from Laird MacNeacail from Scorrybreac.” He stepped back. His words would bring an unpleasant reaction from Laird MacDonald.
“That swine.” Harris spat a gob that landed at Stirling’s feet.
“I’d like tae twist me dirk in his entrails too.
” He shook his head. “But I dinnae wish tae lose sight of the main game. Let him sail past without mishap. I dinnae wish tae waste effort on him and his ugly wife. ‘Tis his wee half-sister I’ve set me sights on.”
“Once MacNeacail has left the island, ye and the men take a fisherman’s vessel tae the landing place.
Cut the throats of the soldiers on guard and have our men take their place.
Wear the dead men’s plaids tae hide yerselves.
Once ye are in control another craft will take me across.
I’ll deal wi’ Lady Tyra meself.” His words brought him the thrill of promise.
He would take her and nothing would stand in his way.
Stirling bobbed his head, making no argument.
Harris grunted, turned and made his way to the rough shelter where he slept, brushing away the snow already beginning to fall. His scheme would bring him the revenge he craved and all the hardship and discomfort and every moment in that accursed freezing wasteland would be worth it.