Secrets of a Highland Warrior
Autor
Nicole Locke
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The key to his past... lies with the enemy sharing his bed! Rory Lochmore had expected to wage battle, to claim land and finally secure his standing within his clan... Instead he won a wife. A McCrieff wife. Their convenient marriage could unite the two long-feuding clans forever. But can a political alliance give way to a passion strong enough to stand the secrets of the past?
Chapter One
âI donât like this.â Rory surveyed the landscape surrounding him and his men. Tall branches bending slightly in the spring breeze, birds calling softly, the stream mere horse-lengths in front of them, rushing past carrying winterâs melting ice.
Around them was nothing else but rolling fields and a wide sparse treeline that had been manned and maintained to remain that way since before he was born. Enough trees for game, but not enough for enemies to hide behind.
Not that there should be enemies while they stood on Lochmore land, but across that stream...
âPerhaps they are waiting over that ridge.â Paiden sidled his horse alongside his and whispered low.
Rory didnât turn his attention to the other men. They had maintained their position and were far enough behind to not hear the words that Paiden inevitably desired to share. Of the same age, if different temperament, Paiden had been at his side for as long as he had memory.
Paiden had been talking for that long as well and Rory was used to his friendâs humour even in the direst circumstances. Now, on this mildest of mornings, the circumstances werenât dire, but they werenât safe either. His men, well back from the stream few ventured near, didnât need to hear words to comprehend their predictament.
âHow likely is it that a garrison of McCrieffs and their horses are crouching behind a hill no taller than a couple of rabbits could breach?â
âOh, as likely as toothless Joan is capable of eating overcooked venison.â
Not likely at all. There was no one to greet him and his men this fine spring day. Twenty of them in all here, one hundred more waiting at the castle should he make the agreed signal. Twenty was enough of a force for the expected confrontation, but not enough to provoke a first strike. If the McCrieffs wanted a fight, then there were enough to defend the Lochmore claim. If they wanted to negotiate, the numbers werenât so intimidating that the possibility was there as well.
Months had gone into the planning of this day. A fortnight spent on discussing the number of men, the weaponry, the day and the hour. Rory was prepared for every likely scenario when it came to this day. The nothingness they faced wasnât any scenario at all.
Which was why they stayed on the Lochmore side of the stream. Across the water was the beginning of McCrieff land. Or what was McCrieff land. It was now his by royal decree.
After his clan supported the crowning of John Balliol last November, the English King Edward had granted the Lochmores part of the McCrieff lands. The ones that bordered along the stream that for years had separated the two clans. The two enemies.
The stream had been a firm divide between the clans and a well-welcomed one. Owning the land, however, gave the Lochmores even more pleasure. To take by any means something precious from the McCrieffs was worth any price paid.
But months had passed since Edwardâs decree. During that time the McCrieffs ignored Edwardâs law and the Lochmore Chiefâs messages.
So it came down to this day, to this hour to fight, to battle. Except all that was before him was the rising of the morning sun and the blades of plentiful grass the horses fed from.
Certainly, the beauty of the land was enough to please any Highlander, but the landscape wasnât what he intended or expected to see right now.
The granting of this land wasnât at the McCrieffsâ consent. In fact, this very land had been bitterly fought over for years. Everything between them had been fought over for years.
Also, being Highlanders, it wasnât expected that the McCrieffs would agree to an English kingâs decree. After all, what right did he have over a Highlanderâs lands?
However, since it was convenient at this moment for Lochmoreâs Chief, Roryâs father, to accept, he did. But with no word from the McCrieffs, it seemed they didnât accept the terms.
Now, with no one here, it didnât seem like anything at all.
âItâs a trap,â Paiden said.
âTruly, that ridge wouldnât be able to hide one horse and weâd hear them if they laid in wait. Where would they lay a trap?â
Rory looked behind at his men waiting for command. They were as restless as the mounts beneath them. They expected to let out a war cry today. Indeed, theyâd feasted and bedded in celebration the night before in case today was their last.
If they returned now, it would be without gaining the honour of such celebration. If he returned to his father emptyhanded with no resolution or information, today might indeed be his last. His father wouldnât allow such ambiguity. McCrieffs present or not, Roryâs only choice was to confront.
âIâm crossing,â Rory said. When Paiden pulled his horse only slightly more ahead, Rory stopped. âThe others didnât move.â
âThatâs because you didnât give the signal to move.â
âExactly, so what are you doing?â
âYou can give the men commands all that you want, but Iâll still be by your side.â
âWhen Iâm Chiefââ
âYou can give me orders and I wonât cross you in front of others, but until then... Forget it.â
When he was Chief. Not yet. Not without his fatherâs death and an elderâs approval. But Rory hadnât been concerned for approval because of this honour today of leading his men to confront the McCrieffs. To demand why they ignored a kingâs decree and a clanâs chief.
For months, the firm conclusion as to why the McCrieffs had ignored the decree and messages was that they contested the claim. So in the last message the Lochmores had arranged this day. To meet and agree or if not, to fight. The McCrieffs made no reply, but that, too, wasnât a concern. For no Highlander would be so cowardly as to ignore a challenge and the last missive was a challenge.
Thus, because he was the only son, the only child of the Lochmore Chief, he wore the best armour his clan owned and wore a sword heâd sharpened himself. The McCrieffs had all to gain with his death and they would not claim it. This was to be his day to prove himself to his father, to his clan. To himself. It was all to be his. His to battle, wrest and claim.
If no blood was to be found on this side of the water, heâd simply ride forward to find it. The hatred between the Lochmores and McCrieffs was too deep for there not to be some argument this day. Some trophy to be won so when he did face his father again, Finley would give his proud approval. Rory would never give up until he finally obtained it.
âIf I canât rid myself of you...â Rory sighed with exaggeration â...then the others will want to ride as well.â With his arm raised, he drew a large circle in the air. Whatever might come, this land was his to ensure this day and ensure it he must. For once, heâd be the Lochmore his father wanted him to be.
