The Chieftain: A Highlander's Heart and Soul Novel Read online

  “God get us to safety—or at the verra least, save my brothers and Magnus.” His breath steamed across the frosting folds of the kilt bunched at his throat. He dragged the sign of the cross against his chest then sagged to one side, the world around him fading into a fog of darkness. “Please…”

  Chapter 1

  February 1692 - Clan Neal’s keep - Ben Nevis Scotland

  “Ye tied these laces tight enough, I give ye that.” Gaersa yanked at the leather strips snugging the fur shaft of the boot around Catriona’s calves. The old woman bent lower, scowling at the knots as she plucked at them with her thick, crooked fingers.

  Catriona Neal clenched her fists in her lap to keep from brushing Gaersa’s stiff, knobby hands out of the way and untying the boots herself. Stubborn Gaersa Aberfeldy, housekeeper to Clan Neal as far back as Catriona could remember. She reckoned the old woman would best the task in her own time. 'Twould hurt the housekeeper’s feelings o’er much if Catriona took the job from her.

  I’ll ne’er be free of these boots.

  Catriona forced herself not to fidget. If she moved, Gaersa would try to hurry then fumble at the chore all the longer. The door to the turret room burst open and banged against the wall, startling all thoughts of footwear out of her mind.

  Gaersa yanked the boot off Catriona’s foot and threw it at the red-faced young lad hopping in place in the doorway. “Sawny Fitzgerald, I’ll box your ears for ye, I will! Gave us such a fright, ye did. What do ye mean blowing into a room like that?”

  “Hunters,” Sawny said between huffing gasps. Eyes wide and hands held high with fingers outspread, he skittered back and forth like a wee scarecrow caught in a strong wind. He swallowed hard, sucked in a great gulp of air, then blew it out. “Hunters are back and…” he paused to draw another deep breath.

  “And what?” Catriona prompted. If the boy had just startled the life out of them to tell her the hunters were back and they’d managed to find meat, she’d box his ears herself.

  “Men!” Sawny dragged the back of his hand across his mouth then thumped it to the center of his narrow chest. He leaned forward, bobbing his shaggy head in such an excited jerking nod 'twas small wonder that he didn’t snap his spindly neck. “They found men. Near dead they are.”

  Sweet Jesu, now what?

  Catriona yanked off her other boot and shoved both feet into the everyday shoes she’d left in the turret room before going outside to walk the path atop the skirting wall. “How many?” She rose from the bench and shook her heavy woolen skirts down into place.

  “Two, mistress.” Sawny grew more animated as he fidgeted in the doorway. He edged his way back out into the hallway, waving for Catriona to follow. “But Mr. Murtagh says there be more still out there in the snow. He said to fetch ye with great haste.”

  “More?” Catriona shooed the boy forward, hurrying down the hall beside him. “Are ye telling me they left some out there to die in the cold?” She knew Murtagh was no lover of his fellow man but he wasna heartless.

  Sawny’s blue eyes rounded even wider. He gave a dismissive shrug as he scurried along beside her. “I’m only saying what Mr. Murtagh said say to ye, mistress.” He scuttled and hopped, struggling to keep up with Catriona’s long-legged stride. “I be begging your pardon if it offends ye, mistress, but I swear on me mam’s grave that’s what he said say.”

  Catriona bit back her words to keep from quashing the young boy further. It wasn’t the lad’s fault. He was naught but twelve years old and small for his age. A child. He adored Murtagh Aberfeldy and shadowed the stable master’s every step when he wasn’t tending to his duties as a kitchen boy helping Cook. “I thank ye for fetching me. Now hie back to the kitchen. I’m sure Cook will be looking for ye to help with the evening meal.”

  The lad’s shoulders sagged, and his round face fell as they hurried down the last winding curve of stairs leading to the main floor of the keep. It was quite plain to see that Sawny would much rather return to Murtagh than see to his responsibilities. His forlorn expression pulled at Catriona’s heart. She set a hand on his shoulder and paused their descent down the winding stairwell. “If your sister Jenny can do your share in the kitchens, just this once, ye may come and help Murtagh rather than help Cook.”

  Sawny’s little mouth twisted to one side. His pitiful look shifted to one of guilt. “I dinna ken if Jenny will do my share as well as hers for Cook. She’s still a bit red-arsed about…” Sawny’s words trailed off and the lad seemed quite unable to look Catriona in the eye. After a deep breath, he peered up at her through his shaggy fringe of unkempt hair and drew his shoulders into a cringing shrug. “I dinna think she’ll help me.”

  “What did ye do to Jenny?” Catriona had four brothers. She was well acquainted with young boys' antics.

  “Me and Tom caught a rat and put it in Jenny’s room.” Sawny shifted sideways with a guilty twitch. “But it was mostly Tom’s idea.” Sawny drew closer and lowered his voice to a secretive tone. “I think he likes Jenny.”

  Catriona rolled her eyes and shook her head. Males. “If ye canna find a way to make things right with Jenny so she’ll do your chores, then ye canna come and help Murtagh, ye ken?”

  “Aye,” Sawny said in a dejected tone as he plodded down the remaining steps. By the time he’d reached the main landing, determination squared his narrow shoulders, and he darted off toward the kitchens. Sawny was not a lad to give up on an opportunity.

  Skirts fisted in both hands and held high above her steps, Catriona hurried into the heart of the keep: the clan’s meeting hall. Just inside the front entrance to the great room, closest to the tall double doors that led outside to the bailey, six of Clan Neal’s hunters and Murtagh stood clustered together. Amid the hunter’s hulking fur-wrapped forms lay two men. They had been placed across a pair of benches pulled together to keep them up out of the muck and wet snow tracked inside. The men appeared dead, so still they were and so absent of color. Murtagh turned at the sound of her approach and the rest of the hunters shuffled back a few feet.

  Catriona circled the unconscious men stretched across the benches, apprising their grim condition. Sweet Jesu. Look at them. Barely drawing breath. So near dead. She looked up at Murtagh. “Sawny said there were more?”

  “Aye. Found them on the northern ridge between here and Glen Coe.” Murtagh frowned down at the pair as he shrugged off the heavy fur cloak from around his shoulders and tossed it across a nearby table. Strong, healthy fires crackled in the two great hearths of the long hall, making the high-ceilinged room too warm for outdoor clothing. “Old MacAlpin’s cave. Seven of them.” He dipped his grizzled chin in a single nod toward the lifeless men. “These two were the worst, so we brought them here.” He locked eyes with Catriona, a grim look of finality on his face. “They’ve but one horse betwixt them all and the drifting snow be too deep for them to walk here in their condition. Might survive another few days. A fortnight at best. They’ve no food or water. Ill prepared, they are.”

  “Gather additional men and whatever ye need to fetch the rest. We’ll no' be leaving anyone to suffer and die.” Peering under the bloodied plaid wrapped around the man on the left, Catriona cringed. Gunshot wounds. Cuts. Deep slashes in dire need of stitching. She pressed the back of her hand to the side of his neck. Fever. The man burned hot to the touch even after traveling in the frigid weather. She checked the second man. He was overly warm, too.

  “Storm’s a coming,” Murtagh said, as he retrieved his fur cloak and the gloves he’d tossed on the table beside it.

  Catriona knew Murtagh wasn’t arguing with her request. He was merely stating a fact. She looked up at him and nodded. “Aye, I saw the clouds to the north of us. Ye’d best hurry.” She turned to the hunters still hovering close by. “We canna leave those others to die. Think how ye would feel if it were your own kin lost in this weather.” She stood taller and lifted her chin. “A storm doesna exist that a Neal hunter canna best. I ken ye will all be safe enough, aye?”
r />   The biggest and burliest of the group, Ranald, stepped forward. “Aye, mistress. We’ll get them all fetched afore the storm hits. Ne'er ye fret.” He turned and glared at the other men still skulking back in the shadows beneath the gallery running the circumference of the great room. “Ye heard Mistress Catriona. Each of ye fetch an additional man and be quick about it. Extra supplies as well in case the storm delays us.”

  “And rig up some sledges. Five of them,” Murtagh said. “I willna be taking extra horses just to risk losing them in the pass.” He turned back to Catriona, scowling at her with a pained expression. After a stolen glance at the hunters scattering to gather supplies, he leaned in close and lowered his voice. “Ye will light a candle and say the words for us, aye? As your mother always did?”

  “Aye.” Of course she’d light a candle and say the words. She just wished she’d inherited her mother’s talents when it came to the mysteries and influencing the way of things. She’d yet to see any results from uttering words, lighting candles, or burning bundles of herbs.

  No time to mourn lost abilities now. Catriona motioned forward the ever-growing cluster of servants peeping into the room through multiple arched doorways lining the great hall. “Come. The lot of ye. We’ve work to do. Our healing room will be here in the hall.”

  Gaersa emerged from the turret stairwell, her face round and shining with sweat and her plump arms pumping at her sides. She waddled as fast and furious as her matronly form would allow. With a swipe of her fingers across her forehead, she tucked in the strands of gray hair escaping out from under the ruffles of her white cap. After a deep intake of air, she clapped her hands and barked out her orders. “Blankets. Linens. Hot water and basins. In front of the hearths. Off with ye now!”

  Servants mobilized. White-capped maids scurried to fetch the required items and scullery lads rushed to pull the long dinner tables and benches out of the way.

  Catriona gazed down at the two wounded men, concern, compassion, and indecision fighting for supremacy within her. Who in God’s name did this to ye? And will they follow ye and do the same to us?

  “Are ye tetched?” The familiar bellowing sneer echoed from across the room.

  “No worse than yourself, dear brother.” Catriona spared a glance back at her belligerent twin. “I’ve no time to deal with ye, Calum. Take the boys and go if ye’re no' inclined to help us tend to these men.”

  “We can help.” Twins Murray and Dougal sprang out from behind their older brother. The pair of nine-year-olds grabbed hold of a nearby bench and started wrestling it toward the wall.

  “Fine boys, ye are, the both of ye.” Catriona gave them a proud nod. At least her youngest brothers were still her allies. She waved a hand toward them as she turned her attention back to her other two siblings who would just as soon feed her to the wolves. “The two of ye could take lessons from Murray and Dougal. Willing to help their fellow man, they are. It might do both your souls some good to learn their ways, I grant ye that.”

  Calum and her fifteen-year-old brother, Angus, glared at her from where they stood beside the chief’s chair on the raised platform at the head of the room. Both stood with chests puffed out like insulted birds of prey, glowering at the readying of the hall for the wounded.

  “Dinna worry after my soul, dear sister,” Calum said. A low growl added a deeper level of hatred to his words. He made a pompous sweeping motion with one hand, encompassing the entire room. “The dead of winter and ye’re taking in more mouths to feed?” He glared at her and took a threatening step forward, fisted hands trembling at his sides. “Damned foolish, it is. Ye’re showing complete disregard for the well-being of your own clan.”

  Catriona ignored him as she directed Geordie and Tamhas, two men from the hunting group, to place the injured men on tables the servants had padded with blankets and placed close to one of the hearths. “Gentle as ye can, lads. Gentle as ye can.”

  “Ye will do me the courtesy of listening when I speak, Catriona. Do ye hear me? I willna have ye risking the survival of our clan by taking in complete strangers who look to have been involved in who knows what sort of ill-gotten venture. Did it ever occur to ye that ye could endanger all of us by taking in possible traitors to the Crown?” Calum glared at her as though she mattered less than the scraps thrown to the dogs. “'Tis damned foolish and I’ll no’ permit it, ye ken?”

  “Aye,” young Angus chimed in, taking another step forward to keep himself shoulder to shoulder with Calum.

  I’ve no time for your arrogant arses, dear brothers. Catriona drew in a calming breath and released it in a slow, controlled hiss, determined to hold her tongue and not rise to Calum’s bait. She’d learned long ago that ignoring Calum was the surest way to vex him and she did so at every opportunity.

  “Fetch Elena,” she said to Sawny as she tended to the man who seemed to be in the worse condition of the two.

  Sawny bolted toward the door, barely pausing long enough to bundle up with an extra plaid before rushing out into the bitter cold weather to follow his mistress’s orders.

  “I bid ye respond, sister!” Calum slammed a hand down hard atop the chieftain’s table. “In fact, I demand it!” His deep voice boomed with barely held fury. Calum’s temper matched the flaming red of his hair and his cruelty knew no bounds. All in the keep feared him. All except Catriona.

  Spoiled bastard. Mother had always coddled him, justified it by saying he’d nearly died at birth whilst Catriona had thrived. Catriona squared off and faced Calum. “I hear your words, brother. Since it’s obvious ye’ll be of no help, I bid that ye at least stay out of my way. Can ye manage that, Calum? You and your wee shadow there?” Teeth clenched, she lifted her chin and glared at her brothers, daring them to challenge her. She was in no mood to try to keep Calum appeased today.

  “Come, Angus,” Calum said with a dismissive huffing snort. “We shall deal with Catriona later, after I’ve apprised Father of this foolhardiness. Last I checked, he still led Clan Neal.”

  Angus shot Catriona a taunting sneer before trotting off to catch up with his older brother.

  Fools. 'Twould do little good to run to Father. Their sire’s only concern of late was how quickly he could drown himself in whisky and port. He cared even less about kith and kin than he had when he was strong enough to emerge from his rooms—and then he didna give a tinker’s damn.

  Catriona returned her attention to her deathly still patient. As gently as she could, she peeled away the man’s blood-encrusted léine. A low hiss escaped her as the clotted wounds fought to hold tight to the weave of the cloth then oozed with fresh blood when she pulled the material free. Judas, so much blood and damage. How could one man survive such?

  She unsheathed the blade she kept belted to her waist and cut away the soiled bloody garment bit by bit. Bile rose at the back of her throat. A hard swallow kept it at bay as she clamped her lips tight against the sight before her. She refused to flinch or turn away.

  “Blessed Mother,” Gaersa whispered from the opposite side of the table. “The man’s a bloody mess. How does he still draw breath?”

  Catriona agreed. 'Twas small wonder this great brute of a man still lived. His body looked as though he’d fought an entire regiment.

  “Best prop his injured leg a bit higher,” Catriona said as she uncovered the vicious wound in his thigh. “'Twill ease the stress off the wound as we work.” She pulled away the remainder of his kilt, revealing his man parts in the process. Sweet Jesu, Mary, and Joseph. Her breath caught in her throat at the increased pace of her heartbeat. The braw comely warrior was quite blessed indeed.

  “My my…a giant of a man and no' lacking beneath his kilt either. That’s for certain.” Gaersa hurried to drape a linen across him and gave Catriona a stern shake of her head. “'Tis no' proper for a lady, a maiden, mind ye, such as yourself to be seeing such. Ye tend to his wounds from the waist up. Elena and I will tend to his injuries from the waist down.”

  Elena Bickerstaff, Clan Neal
’s healer, appeared at Gaersa’s side. The frail crone shrugged off her wraps and cloak and handed them to Sawny without taking her eyes off the man stretched across the length of the table. “This warrior has seen great troubles.” The old woman stretched her bent frame up on tip toe to peer closer at the man. With narrowed eyes and sparse white brows knotted together, her thin, bony hands flitted all across his body, examining every wound.

  She finished with a sharp shake of her head. Her knobby hands planted on the side of the pallet, she straightened as much as her twisted back would allow and scowled across him at Catriona. “Still full of lead, he is, and some of his wounds already set to festering. We’ll have to get the bullets out of him and cauterize the wounds.” She gave him another slow sweeping, up and down look. The silver-white wisps of hair peeping out from under her cap fluttered about her wrinkled face like cobwebs. “He’s a great beast of a man, he is. Muscled. Strong. 'Tis probably all that’s kept him alive.” She hitched her way over to the second man and began her examination of him.

  “They’re both huge,” Gaersa said as she toddled over to the hearth, swung an iron bar out from the fireplace, and hung a kettle of water on it before swinging it back over the roiling coals. “We’ll be needing plenty of boiling water, that’s for certain.”

  Catriona stayed by the man with the more severe wounds, smoothing his dark hair away from his face and resting her palm across his burning brow. So many wounds. What horrors have ye seen? The thought of the pain he’d already endured and the agony of healing yet to come grabbed hold of her heart and twisted.

  “Ye’re safe now, lad,” she whispered to him. “Safe and warm.” It didna matter that he might no' hear her words. She needed to say them. Perhaps 'twould somehow help him.