Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Lachann did not stop to think about wisdom. The drunk had to be on his way to the healer’s cottage, and he was not so jaked that he could not do more damage if he wished. And from the sound of his words, that was his intent. He was likely to kill someone.
Lachann was only a minute or two behind the drunk, but when he came to the cottage, the man had already managed to pin the fair-haired lass up against a wall and was shouting his vile abuse directly in her face. The injured woman was trying to get up from her pallet—to help, Lachann supposed.
The lass struggled to get free, but the bastard’s hands were at her throat, and her face was turning a livid shade of red. Lachann wasted no time, but yanked the bloody fool off the woman, whirled him around, and landed a punch that dropped him to the ground.
The woman’s attacker lay insensible on the floor.
“Weel now,” said Janet, “ye’re a bonny fetcher, are ye no’, lad?”
Lachann paid no heed to the woman but knelt beside the lass, who’d slid down the wall to the ground, looking stunned. “Are you all right?” he asked.
She swallowed tightly and gave a wee nod, but there was a look of shock about her lovely eyes, and she seemed to be in no small amount of pain. Lachann tipped her chin up with two fingers and saw that a bruise was already forming ’round her throat.
He resisted the urge to caress the injury, to try and give her more comfort than he ought, considering his purpose here on Kilgorra. “ ’Twill be sore for a few days.”
He heard Duncan’s voice behind him. “Lachann.”
Both his men stood at the open door, peering into the croft. Their expressions reminded him he should not allow himself to become distracted by an altercation taking place in the village. “Aye. I’m coming.”
Even so, he bent down and picked up the drunkard. Tossing the blighter over his shoulder, Lachann stalked out of the cottage and down the path. He heard his men mount their horses behind him and follow as he headed down to the pier once again. When he arrived at the water’s edge, he realized he had an audience of fishermen, arriving in their fishing boats with their catch. He ignored them and threw the fellow into the drink.
“Gesu, Lachann,” Duncan said. “What if he drowns?”
“No great loss to Kilgorra, then,” Lachann replied.
The drunkard came up sputtering, and Lachann leaned forward to address him. “If I hear of one more bruise on either of those women, you sorry excuse for a man, you’ll answer to me. And I will not be so gentle next time!”
Lachann strode back to his horse and mounted up as though naught had happened to deter him from his destination. He glanced ’round and took in the faces of the people who stepped out of the shops and cottages and were walking down the various paths from the village to the pier to see what the disturbance was.
Kieran laughed aloud as they started up the road that led to the castle. “ ’Twill be an arrival they will not soon forget, Lachann!”
Lachann forced away his feelings of concern for the lass at the cottage and her injured throat. She was with the healer. He had done all he could for her.
Truly, he wanted to do no more. Such a woman could be poison to his purpose here.
“Did you see the look on that bawbag’s face when he surfaced?” Kieran added with a laugh.
“Aye,” Lachann replied. “A tyrant never expects any ill treatment in return, does he?”
“Lachann, what if MacDuffie hears of this?” Duncan asked, his tone serious. Worried.
“You can be assured he will, Duncan,” Lachann replied. “As will every other man on the isle—men whose laird I intend to become. They’ll do well to understand I’ll brook no unwarranted bullying on this isle.”
“Aye, but—”
“ ’Twill be known that I am not a man to be trifled with. Aye?”
Kilgorra’s only village lay just beyond the pier, a hilly little town tucked beneath a wall of craggy cliffs above it. The distillery was at the rear of the village, standing beside the bank of a wide river that flowed from a waterfall dropping impressively from the crags.
Behind the distillery was a large wooden granary for storing the barley before it was used in the distilling process. As the Glencoe Lass had sailed into Kilgorra waters, Lachann had seen cottages amid well-tended fields up in the hills. Everything he had seen of the isle had so far pleased him, except for the beaten woman.
Lachann and his two cousins rode up the path to MacDuffie’s castle. No one could attack the stronghold from the sea, and there was only the one road that led to it from lower ground. It seemed a perfect location.
The MacMillans entered through the outer gate into a wide bailey, where numerous buildings stood, from the armory that sat empty and dormant, to a smithy, and a large, stone building that had the look of a barracks. Clearly, Kilgorra had once been a mighty force in the Minch.
As matters stood now, there was no one to stop a raiding ship from sailing freely through Loch Ewe and on down to Loch Maree, where Braemore lands lay.
Braemore had met one such attack in spring, when pirates had sailed down to Loch Maree from the Minch, right past Kilgorra. The battle had cost Lachann’s clan dearly. Their treasure had been preserved, but they’d lost too many men to the marauding pirates.
’Twould never happen again if Lachann had his say, and Kilgorra was strategic to his plan. The isle guarded the seaway to Braemore, and since Lachann’s clan had recently become wealthy beyond imagining, it needed the protection Kilgorra could provide. He knew rumors were spreading of the French gold he and his brother had discovered three years earlier. He intended to do everything in his power to protect against rival clans and raiders who would use any means to take their gold.
They rode through the inner courtyard and saw the huge stone Kilgorra Keep beyond, with its tall towers and a parapet rising from its roof.
Duncan tipped his head toward the massive wooden door of the keep, where a stoop-shouldered, bald-pated man stood waiting beside a younger fellow. “That must be Laird MacDuffie,” Duncan said. “But there was never any mention of a son.”
The second man had a thick head of dark red hair and was far taller than the other. Lachann looked closer. Gesu, no.
“Lachann ... ,” Kieran said warily. “That man ... standing beside MacDuffie. Is that ... Could that be ... ?”
“Aye. I think it is,” Duncan said, giving voice to Lachann’s worst nightmare. “ ’Tis Cullen Macauley.”
“Ach, do you think he brought his wife with him?” Kieran asked. Both cousins knew what Fiona had meant to Lachann. They knew he’d loved the lass to distraction and her father had halted their wedding in favor of the wealthier Macauley.
Lachann put his hand on the hilt of his sword.
“Lachann, you cannot,” Duncan said.
“Aye. I most certainly can.” He would rid himself of his most hated enemy and make Fiona a widow all in one slash of his sword.
“Not if you want Laird MacDuffie’s goodwill.”
“It sickens me to say it, Lachann, but he’s right,” Kieran said. “We do not know what Macauley is doing here.”
Lachann did not care. All he knew was this was a Macauley. Worse, this was Cullen Macauley—the bastard who’d stolen his woman.
Lachann’s hand tightened on his sword. He narrowed his vision as his mouth dried and his heart sped up. But some part of his brain took in Duncan’s words, and he knew his cousin was right. He hated the thought of backing down now, while he had the bastard within reach.
But knew he must.