Chapter 19
19
Lachlan approached Cairnloch Castle very cautiously. He had told his men not to attack the MacAdams garrison unless they did so first, since he had not come to make war, but to talk peace. He also wished to ask for Alyth’s hand in marriage, and he wanted nothing to get in the way of that because he knew a refusal would break his heart.
However, as they approached the castle he noticed that the guards were dressed in the livery of both the MacAdams and Robertson Clans, and a feeling of deep apprehension came over him.
Something is wrong, he thought, as he went forward to meet one of the guards who was manning the main gate. He greeted the man politely.
“May I speak to Laird MacAdams, please?” he asked, smiling and bowing pleasantly.
“The Laird isnae available, Sir,” the man replied. “His daughter is gettin’ married.”
Lachlan felt as though he had been punched in the stomach. He dropped his calm facade at once, urged his horse forward and galloped into the courtyard with all his armed horsemen behind him.
Could he stop the wedding before the vows were said, or was he already too late? He had no doubt that Alyth was not entering into the marriage willingly. No, she was being forced into it by her weak and spineless father. Lachlan had a notion that a forced marriage was not valid, but he could not be sure if that was true, and was not willing to take the chance. It was better to be safe than sorry, he thought grimly.
Could it be that she was telling the truth about running away from her betrothed? Could that betrothed be Robertson himself? The thought was dreadful.
The MacAdams and Robertson guards never stood a chance as the Carrick horses ploughed through them. However, when the Carricks reached the entrance to the castle many of the Cairnloch men had risen to their feet and unsheathed their swords, and a fierce battle started in seconds.
Gavin, who had been at Lachlan’s side and heard the guard’s words, managed to shout to Lachlan, “I will take care o’ this! Go an’ stop the weddin’!”
Lachlan needed no second bidding, but dismounted and sprinted into the castle, brandishing his sword ferociously. He asked a terrified maid where the chapel was, and when she told him the way, he ran there as fast as his legs would carry him, knocking down anyone or anything that got in his way.
A dozen of his men were following behind him; they knew that Laird Robertson and Laird MacAdams would not be unguarded, especially on a day like this.
As soon as they approached the entrance to the church, Lachlan saw the minister standing by the door reading a prayer book. He was a small, bald man in late middle age with a kindly air, but at that moment Lachlan was feeling anything but kind.
He took the clergyman by the front of his robe and said, “There will be no wedding today, Reverend. Go and find somewhere safe to hide.”
The man looked shocked, but hurried away without a word. Lachlan crept to a position just behind the door so that he could look into the church without being seen.
He was horrified. Alyth, looking miserable and wearing the ugliest dress he had ever seen, was standing by the side of the man whom Lachlan hated most in the world.
Lachlan had summoned ten of his own guards to stand behind him, while he unsheathed his sword, but when he saw Alyth’s face, miserable and terrified, his rage boiled over, and he roared, “You swine, Robertson! Get away from her, or I will take your ugly head off your shoulders! Get away!”
He did not take a moment longer to think about his own safety, but advanced, his face a mask of fury, while behind him his guards fought the joint MacAdams and Robertson men.
Robertson slowly unsheathed his own sword. He was holding on to Alyth’s hand and gripped it more tightly the moment he saw Lachlan. Evidently, he wanted to use her as a shield against any attack from Lachlan, since any false move could result in her injury or death.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Laird Lachlan Carrick,” he said with a mocking grin. “I am so glad to see you, M’Laird. I have been wanting to send you to hell where you belong for a very long time now, and now you have delivered yourself right into my hands! You may have invited yourself to my wedding, which is very rude, but I forgive you. Look at my bride-to-be. Is she not beautiful? Would you not like to be standing here in my place?” His eyes glinted with malevolent triumph.
Lachlan took another few paces forward, holding up his sword threateningly. He glanced at Alyth, who now looked scared and furious in equal measure.
“Let her go,” Lachlan growled again. “Or I will break every bone in your body.”
“Before or after you take my head off?” Robertson’s words were dripping with sarcasm. “Well, you may try by all means, let me tell you, however, that you will not succeed. You see, I outsmarted both of you once, and I will do it again. It was my men, not the MacAdams’ who raided your castle and I personally killed your wife while you were busy fighting his men.” He flung out a hand to point at Alyth’s father. “My men raided your village and killed the men while dressed in MacAdams’ livery.”
Lachlan was now trembling with rage. “Why?” he asked angrily, taking another threatening step forward.
“Why does anyone fight anyone else?” Robertson said simply. “Because they want something. You have the best and most fertile land for miles around, and I wanted it. I still want it, and I will have it.” His voice was so smug and self-assured that Lachlan’s blood boiled even hotter.
“Over my dead body,” Lachlan’s voice was a snarl, and Robertson replied with an evil snigger.
“Well, that can be arranged,” he said, raising his sword so that it was pointing straight at Lachlan’s chest.
Lachlan did not hesitate for a second more before charging towards his enemy. He was in danger of being impaled on Robertson’s weapon, but his strength came to the fore as he swiped his sword sideways and knocked Robertson’s blade out of his way, leaving his chest open to Lachlan’s attack. However, his foe was nimbler than he looked, and he sidestepped at the last moment.
Lachlan stumbled, then deflected a stroke of Robertson’s sword, leaving them standing at a stalemate, glaring at each other thunderously.
Alyth stood looking at them helplessly, trying to find a way to help Lachlan. However, she had no weapon, and to try to interfere with the raging battle between two experienced fighters wielding swords would have been tantamount to suicide.
If her hatred could have killed Robertson, he would have been stone dead by now, she thought.
As she watched, Lachlan parried towards his opponent, but Robertson blocked it and brought his blade down in a chopping motion on Lachlan’s. Lachlan took a step backwards, then, with a roar that shook the whole chapel, he ran at Robertson, the point of his sword aimed straight at his chest.
Again Robertson sidestepped, but while he did so he grabbed the front of Laird MacAdams’ waistcoat, dragged him to his feet and pushed him in front of himself as a shield, holding a sword to his throat. The smile on his face was an evil sneer, and Alyth, who had been about to run towards Lachlan, froze in terror.
“Let him go,” she begged. “Please, I will do anything. Call the minister back, and we can finish the wedding service—but please don’t harm my father. He has done nothing to you.”
Robertson threw back his head and laughed heartily at that. “No, indeed he has not,” he agreed. “He has done nothing at all because he is as weak as water, and he could not win a battle with my pet dog!”
He turned Colin MacAdams around so that he could look him in the face. “I have always despised you,” he sneered. “Ever since we were boys I knew you to be too feeble to stand up for yourself, and when my wife died and your daughter came of age I was determined to take her away from you—and I have succeeded!” His voice was ringing with unholy triumph. “Now she is mine, and there is nothing you can do about it.”
Laird Colin MacAdams looked at the floor. He was filled with fury, and although most of it was directed at James Robertson, a lot of it was for himself. He was equally filled with shame because he was a wretched, spineless coward who had allowed himself to be intimidated by a greedy and spiteful man whom he had been stupid enough to think of as his friend.
Now he was getting exactly what he deserved, but his beloved daughter was suffering too, and she deserved none of this. He glanced up at her fleetingly before looking at the floor again to avoid her eyes. She looked afraid, but her fear was for him. Inside, he knew she had a core of steel.
Alyth turned to Lachlan, her eyes wide and desperate. “Lachlan, please help him!” she begged.
Lachlan, however, was powerless as long as his enemy’s sword rested against her father’s throat. He stood, helpless, as Robertson cried, “Men, take my woman away to her room and stand guard over her. I will deal with her shortly.”
He turned to Lachlan and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, a dozen more of Lachlan’s men burst into the chapel. It took them a matter of moments to overcome the remaining Robertson guards, who were completely outnumbered. They dragged their wounded and trapped enemies away, but one of them, who had managed to break free, was efficiently dispatched by a swipe from Gavin’s sword.
Yet, Robertson still stood with his sword against Laird MacAdams’ throat, and as they watched, he moved it slightly sideways so that a little blood trickled over the blade and ran down the Laird’s neck. Alyth let out a scream of fright, and Robertson gave her a satisfied smirk.
Colin MacAdams looked utterly terrified, which, of course, he was. He knew that these were his last moments on earth, and his gaze settled on Alyth, begging her to forgive him. He had always assumed that he would die in battle or in bed with his family around him, not trapped by an enemy, humiliated and filled with shame.
He mouthed the words, “I love you”, to Alyth, and she nodded slowly in acknowledgement, then shifted her gaze back to Lachlan. Now that he had the advantage, he wasted no time in using it.
“Well, Robertson,” he drawled. “It seems you have a choice to make between life and death. My men are all around you. They have captured, wounded or killed yours, and there is no one to save you if you try to run or kill your captive. How far do you think you will get, even with your blade at his throat, if you try to leave? You will be cut down, and I will take great delight in doing it.
So I suggest this. Let go of Laird MacAdams and I will spare your life. You will be treated well and given a fair trial—on that you have my word. The alternative, as I have said, is death. You choose.”
The two men glared at each other for a moment, neither moving a muscle, before Robertson sneered, “Your word? You think I trust in your word? Give me one good reason why I should.”
Lachlan smiled and shrugged, looking utterly unconcerned. “It is very simple. Because if you don’t, you will not escape here alive.”
The first sign of fear appeared on Robertson’s face and the hand holding his sword started to tremble. Then suddenly he turned to make a dash for the side entrance of the church.
However, Lachlan was too fast for him. Acting involuntarily and without thought, he rushed to intercept Robertson and struck him down with the point of his weapon straight through his heart. He fell onto the stone-flagged floor and there was an audible thump as he struck his head on it, but by that time he was already dead.
Lachlan had killed before in self-defence and in battle, but he usually experienced some remorse. This time, however, he felt nothing but satisfaction that he had rid the world of a truly dangerous and loathsome creature. He could not even think of Robertson as a man.
Laird MacAdams had dropped to the floor in a dead faint, and Alyth rushed over to him, thinking the worst. She patted his cheeks and cried, “Da! Wake up! Oh, please wake up!” Tears began to stream from her eyes again as she shook him, but he showed no sign of regaining consciousness.
Presently, Lachlan appeared beside her and knelt down by her father’s side. He touched the pulse at the Laird’s throat and said, “He is alive. I think he might have fainted from shock.” He looked closely at her. “Are you all right? Did Robertson harm you in any way?” He looked anxious.
“No,” Alyth replied, shaking her head. “But I dread to think what he would have done to me afterwards.” She sighed and shook her head, then covered her face with her hands.
Lachlan had to use all his willpower to stop himself from taking Alyth in his arms, kissing her, and telling her exactly how he felt. However, there was still work to be done and he needed to help with the cleaning up, removing bodies and taking care of the wounded.
“Is there a healer in the castle?” he asked.
Alyth nodded. “Yes. Sometimes I help her a little, but she is much more skilled than I am.” She looked up at Lachlan, hopefully. “Will you let my father go to her?”
“Of course I will,” Lachlan answered, frowning.
He summoned two of his men, and they lifted the Laird between them and took him to the sick room.
“May I go with them?” Alyth asked. She looked uncertain, and Lachlan’s heart skipped a beat. Did she think he was a monster?
“Of course you may,” he replied. “I have no right to stop you.”
“Thank you.” Alyth managed a faint smile. “Take whatever you want from the castle, but please do not harm anyone.”
Lachlan frowned. “Do you think I came here to rob you?” he asked, astounded.
Alyth nodded, and he took a step closer to her.
“Alyth, there is only one thing—or rather one person I want—you. I want you to be my wife, and I want our families to be allies. So, will you marry me? Because I cannot imagine living without you.”
Alyth was stunned, and her eyes filled with tears as she gazed at Lachlan in disbelief. Had she heard him right? Then she smiled and nodded her head, too overcome with joy to speak.
“Thank god,” Lachlan breathed. His face broke into a wide, joyful grin. “Thank you, my love. I want to say more, but this is not the time nor the place. Go and see your father while I help to clear up this mess. We can meet later.”
He hugged her briefly and kissed her forehead, then made his way out to the carnage in the courtyard. Alyth followed more slowly, but began to run as she saw the corpse of Laird Robertson a few yards away. She never wanted to lay eyes on him again, dead or alive.
Out in the courtyard of Cairnloch Castle, the Carrick and MacAdams men were working together to tidy up the post-battle debris, while the Robertsons were all being escorted to the dungeons.
Lachlan sought out Gavin, who was talking to the Captain of the Guard of the MacAdams, a man called Douglas Montgomery.
Montgomery snapped to attention as Lachlan stopped beside them. He was a tall man like Lachlan and Gavin, and he had an air of effortless command about him. His men obeyed him without question, and now that he and Gavin were on the same side, discipline, and order were guaranteed.
“What should we do with Robertson body?” Gavin asked, and Lachlan gave him a look that told him exactly what he needed to know.
“Let’s just bury him somewhere and forget about him,” he said grimly.
Gavin gave Lachlan a wicked smile. “Good,” he replied. “Now ye can turn your attention tae happier things.” He raised his eyebrows inquiringly. “Did ye ask her tae marry ye?”
“Yes,” Lachlan replied, with a hint of a smile.
“Dinnae keep me waitin’,” Gavin said impatiently. “What did she say?”
Lachlan gave him a grin that looked as if the sun was coming out.
“She said yes,” he replied happily.