Her Highland Deception (His Highland Heart #6)

Chapter 1

Calum Brodie stood with his chief, Iain Brodie, and his best friend, Euan Brodie, on the ridge overlooking the empty field outside the village of Harlaw.

They would soon fight for Domhnall of Islay, the Lord of the Isles, against the Regent of Scotland, the Earl of Mar, both of whom claimed the same Ross territory.

“We’re close enough to Aberdeen, like as no’, townsfolk have come to watch the battle,” he said.

“We’ve heard that Mar’s men have been moving troops in this direction for days,” Euan added.

Iain nodded toward Mar’s troops massed on the other side of the field, a mix of knights in armor and men on foot dressed in rough clothing, carrying short swords, pikes, pitchforks, or whatever weapons they had to hand.

Most looked little different from many in Domhnall’s army.

“Much of that lot are merchants and farmers, no’ fighters.

If we’re lucky, they’ll decide to blend in with the townsfolk and disappear. ”

“We can hope so.”

“Aye, well, hope never won a battle, did it?”

Calum turned to face the men arrayed behind the Brodie laird. They were ready, weapons sharp and faces grim. But their eyes gave away their eagerness for the battle to begin. “Domhnall had best give the signal soon,” he said to Iain.

Iain pulled his claymore from the sheath on his back.

The heavy longsword flashed, blinding Calum for a moment with the sun’s reflection. Iain took great care with his weapon, much as he did with his clan, and always sharpened and polished it to shine. He wanted an enemy to see death coming for him.

“Let’s show him we’re ready, aye?” Iain looked over his clansmen and raised his voice, thrusting his claymore skyward. “Are ye here to watch or to fight?”

“Fight, fight, fight,” rang out and echoed back from the nearby hills.

“For Brodie!” Iain called out when the noise died down and raised his blade again.

In answer, the Brodie oath, “Unite!”, rang out and filled the field. The men broke into raucous cheers as other clans allied with them called out their war cries in turn. Calum, heart racing, yelled along with them, and grinned at Iain. He was a master at rousing his men.

Kenneth Brodie, Iain’s tanist, his second-in-command, joined them as the cheers died down. “T’will be a good day,” he said. “The fog has lifted. We can see every man they have and how they move.”

A cold chill ran down Calum’s back.

“Dinna say that,” Iain scolded. “Lest ye curse us.”

Kenneth frowned, then nodded. “Ye have the right of it. I take it back,” he added and crossed himself.

Relieved, Calum studied the opposing force.

Knights on horseback, mail glinting in the summer sunlight, were easiest to see, though Mar positioned them toward the rear of his massed spearmen.

Domhnall’s army vastly outnumbered Mar’s, but Mar’s knights could make up for their lack of numbers.

Men on horseback moved faster. Reacted faster.

Their steeds’ hooves and teeth were often as deadly as the steel their riders carried.

Domhnall’s men would have to take them down as early in the battle as possible.

Calum would be glad when this fight was over. It should settle control of Ross territory that had been under dispute for years. Even though he’d met Ella Munro because of that dispute, he’d be glad to see it done.

Ella. Nay, he couldn’t think of the lass today.

He must concentrate on staying alive, returning to her so that he could, someday, win her heart.

No matter how he tried, she gave him no encouragement, but he wouldn’t stop.

He understood what she’d been through when stolen by Ross warriors and forced into a marriage she didn’t want.

She needed to be in command of her own destiny.

But he was determined that destiny would include him.

First, he must stay alive.

Finally, the order came. Calum roared the Brodie oath, his voice lost among all the others around him.

Answering cries went up from the clans flanking them.

From both sides of the field, a host of others immediately joined them.

Bellows and thundering hooves filled the air as the two sides rushed at each other, Mar’s cavalry galloping to the fore.

Iain pushed forward, and Calum forced his way through allies to flank his laird.

He fought alongside Euan and Kenneth, staying near Iain, charged with protecting him.

In moments, Calum lost himself in the rage of battle, the pull of muscle and sinew as he swung his blade, hot blood slick on his fist as he shoved aside a body he’d impaled and surged onward.

Even as his sword crashed so hard with another that he felt it in his teeth, he was intensely aware of everything around him.

Arms lifting, blades flashing in the summer sun, cries of battle and screams of agony, the clash and clang of weapons and shields, thunder of horses’ hooves, neighs and equine screams of distress, the reek of sweat, blood and piss.

It all blended into a single awareness, himself at the center, Iain, Euan and Kenneth near him.

He did not notice time passing. He measured the progress they made by the number of foes surrounding them.

The battle eddied and swirled as they fought off knights and farmers with the same ferocity.

A sudden lull in the numbers of men coming at them gave Calum a moment to catch his breath, chest heaving. He felt Iain move behind him, and the laird shouted a warning. They’d only looked away a second, but they’d let down their guard!

Iain and Kenneth fought Iain’s attacker as Euan kept watch around them, and fought off another attacker who charged at Kenneth’s back.

As Calum turned to help defend his laird, his gaze sweeping around them, the stench of another danger filled Calum’s nose.

Suddenly, a man loomed on Calum’s opposite side.

Too close. He had only a moment to think that if they lost Iain because of it, he’d rather die here than live with the shame.

He raised his sword to block the blow aimed at separating his head from his shoulders.

Blades crashed and sparked, the clang loud enough to make his ears ring.

Something hit his head and the left side of his face.

Light flashed behind his left eye, then went dark.

He raised his blade, expecting a death blow at any second.

He fought to see, searching. Where was his attacker?

Where were Euan and Kenneth and Iain? Darkness closed in.

Hearing the battle rage on around him, oblivious to his fate, he swung in a wide arc and met nothing but air.

He overbalanced and fell to his knees. Before everything around him went black, regret filled his heart that he would never get the chance to wed Ella, to tell her how he felt about her.

To admit he loved her. As he fell, with his last breath he whispered her name.

Calum woke to pain, feeling as if massive hands spanned his head, wrapping around it, fingers squeezing until his skull cracked.

Unless thought leaked through his skull with blood and brains, it was too heavy to reach the surface.

A strange whistling filled his ears. Below it, he heard a low groan.

His? He couldn’t move, couldn’t even open his eyes.

Horror made his belly roil. Something cool dripped onto his lips and into his mouth.

He swallowed and went away, back into the blackness.

The next time he woke, the pain in his head spread to his eye, sharp and piercing.

Had he been stabbed in the eye? He managed to lift one hand, intending to pull out the blade, but cool fingers forced his hand back to his side and a feminine voice said something he couldn’t comprehend.

Male voices rumbled in the background, blurred and indistinct below the whistling.

Nothing made sense, so Calum let the world go away again.

This time, he came awake with the determination to find out what had happened to him.

“Ah, Calum, good morrow.”

He knew that voice. He loved that voice. Ella! What was she doing on the battlefield? He struggled to open his eyes, to sit up, to find his sword and protect her, but a hand on his chest held him down.

“Dinna move, laddie,” a firm, older, female voice commanded. Not Ella. Where had she gone?

“Ella…” He tried to open his eyes, but couldn’t.

“I am here, Calum.” Soft fingers wrapped around his and he relaxed.

The women would not be on the battlefield unless the fighting was over and Domhnall’s army won.

When had they followed Iain’s men from Brodie?

Calum thought Iain left them safe within its walls, hand-picked men remaining to defend them.

“Iain?” He croaked out the name, dreading the news he might receive. “Kenneth? Euan?”

“Hale and nearby,” the older voice replied.

He finally recognized the clan’s healer’s voice through the fog of pain in his head.

“What happened? Why canna I see? Who is making that whistling sound?”

“Ye were wounded, lad, as ye ken.”

Mhairi’s tone was matter-of-fact. Calm. Yet Ella’s cool fingers tensed on his hand.

“How bad?”

“A crack to yer heid, and ye can be glad ’tis so hard, ye yet live. But the sword that did it shattered, possibly on yers, no’ on yer skull. Ye caught a sliver of steel in yer eye. ’Tis gone now.”

“Then why—”

“Yer eyes are covered and bandaged round yer heid. Ye must rest and heal if ye hope to see again out of that eye.”

Her comment stopped him from trying to lift a hand to his face yet again. “How long?”

“Another sennight, I think. Or a wee more. I’ll judge as ye go,” she told him. “Ella, go fetch some broth from the kitchen. Our lad is awake enough to drink, and it will help him heal.”

Ella squeezed his hand, and the swish of fabric told Calum she’d done as the healer asked.