He tore down the hillside, his legs shaking. But his weak body betrayed him, his knees surrendering as he fell to the ground.
The stronghold was right there. Right within his reach.
Anguish ripped through him as he fought to rise, to make his legs move.
But even when he managed to run, they overtook him with their horses, dragging him up. Gloved hands took him by the shoulders, and as he fought, they dropped a hood over his head, blinding him.
Then they struck him down, and all fell into darkness.
‘Something’s wrong, Jenny,’ Nairna MacPherson muttered to her maid, staring out her window into the inner bailey. Four horsemen had arrived through the barbican gate, their leader dressed in chainmail armour and a conical helm. ‘English soldiers are here, but I don’t know why.’
‘Probably Harkirk’s men, come to demand more silver from your father,’ Jenny answered, closing the trunk. ‘But don’t be fretting. It’s his worry, not yours.’
Nairna turned away from the window, her mind stewing. ‘He shouldn’t have to bribe them. It’s not right.’
Robert Fitzroy, the English Baron of Harkirk, had set up his garrison west of her father’s fortress, a year after the Scottish defeat at Falkirk. There were hundreds of English outposts all across the Highlands and more emerging every year.
Her father had given them both his allegiance and his coins, simply to safeguard his people from attack.
Bloodsucking leeches. It had to stop.
‘I’m going to see why they’re here.’ She started to move towards the door, but Jenny stepped in her way.
The old woman’s brown eyes softened with sympathy. ‘We’re going back home this day, Nairna. I don’t think you’re wanting to start a disagreement with Hamish before ye return.’
The arrow of disapproval struck its intended target. Her shoulders lowered, and she wished there were something she could do to help her father. They were bleeding him dry, and she loathed the thought of what he’d done for his clan’s safety.
But Ballaloch was no longer her home. Neither was Callendon, though she’d lived there for the past four years while she’d been married to the chief of the MacDonnell clan.
Iver was dead now. And though she’d had a comfortable life with him, it had been an empty marriage. Nothing at all like the love she’d known before.
A tendril of grief slipped within her heart for the man she’d lost, so many years ago. Bram MacKinloch’s death had broken her apart, and no man could ever replace him.
Now, she was mistress of nothing and mother of no one. Iver’s son and his wife had already assumed the leadership of the clan and its holdings. Nairna was an afterthought, the widow left behind. No one of importance.
The unsettled feeling of helplessness rooted deep inside. Loneliness spread across her heart with the fervent wish that she could be useful to someone. She wanted a home and a family, a place where she wouldn’t be a shadow. But it felt like there was no place that she truly belonged. Not in her father’s home. Not in her late husband’s home.
‘I won’t interfere,’ she promised Jenny. ‘I just want to see why they’re here now. He’s already paid the bribes due for this quarter.’
‘Nairna,’ her maid warned. ‘Leave it be.’
‘I’ll listen to what they’re saying,’ she said slowly, feigning a nonchalance she didn’t feel. ‘And I might try to speak with Da.’
Her maid grumbled, but followed her below stairs. ‘Take Angus with ye,’ she advised.
Nairna didn’t care about a guard, but as soon as she crossed the Hall, Angus MacPherson, a thick-chested man with arms the size of broad tree limbs, shadowed her path.
Outside, she blinked at the afternoon sunlight and saw the English soldiers standing within the inner bailey. Across one of the horses lay the covered body of a man.
Her heart seized at the sight and she hurried closer. Was it a MacPherson they’d found?
Their leader was addressing Hamish, saying, ‘We caught this man wandering not far from Ballaloch. One of yours, I suppose.’ The soldier’s mouth curled in a thin smile.
Nairna’s hand gripped the dagger at her waist. Her father’s face was expressionless as he stared at the soldiers. ‘Is he alive?’
The man gave a nod, motioning for the other soldier to bring the body closer. They had covered their captive’s face with a hood.
‘How much is a man’s life worth to you?’ the Englishman asked. ‘Fifteen pennies, perhaps?’
‘Show me his face,’ Hamish said quietly, sending a silent signal to his steward. Whatever price they named, Nairna knew her father would pay it. But she couldn’t even tell if the prisoner was alive.
‘Twenty pennies,’ their leader continued. He ordered his men to lift the captive from the horse and hold him. The hooded prisoner couldn’t stand upright, and from his torn clothing, Nairna didn’t recognise the man. The long dark hair falling about his shoulders was their only clue to his identity.
Nairna drew closer to her father, lowering her voice. ‘He’s not one of ours.’
The soldiers gripped their captive by his shoulders, and another jerked the man’s head backwards, baring his throat.
‘Twenty-five pennies,’ the Englishman demanded, unsheathing a dagger. ‘His life belongs to you, MacPherson, if you want it.’ He rested the blade at the prisoner’s throat. At the touch of the metal against skin, the prisoner’s hands suddenly closed into fists. He struggled to escape the soldiers’ grip, twisting and fighting.
He was alive.
Nairna’s pulse raced as she stared at the unknown man. Her hands began shaking, for she understood that they would show no mercy to the stranger. They were truly going to execute him, right in the middle of the bailey. And there was no way to know if their captive was a MacPherson or one of their enemies.
‘Thirty pennies,’ came her father’s voice, reaching for a small purse that his steward had brought.
Their leader smiled, catching the purse as it was tossed at him. The soldiers shoved the prisoner to the ground, but after he struck the earth he didn’t rise.
‘Go back to Lord Harkirk,’ Hamish commanded.
The English soldier mounted his horse, rejoining the others as he fingered the purse. ‘I wondered if you were going to let him die. I would have killed him, you know. One less Scot.’ He tossed the bag of coins, his thin smile stretching.
Angus moved forwards from behind Nairna, his hand grasping a spear in a silent threat. Other MacPherson fighters circled the English soldiers, but they had already begun their departure.
Nairna couldn’t quite catch her breath at her father’s blatant bribery. Thirty pennies. She felt as if the wind had been
