Devil Black by Strickland Laura

Author:Strickland, Laura [Strickland, Laura]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Medieval
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Published: 2012-12-26T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Two

“How many of your men are dead?” Isobel asked her husband, trying to sound calmer than she felt. Dougal and Lachlan had come in just at dark and she had gleaned the details of their situation in pieces: MacNab haunting their borders, lurking not quite beyond sight, attacking when he could and withdrawing again when Dougal himself rode out. The guard Dougal had assigned to patrol the perimeter had been slaughtered, the message clear.

She had never seen anyone wear the look now on her husband’s face, grim, stark, and blank with anger, enough to justify his name. He had not expected an attack so swift or stealthy. Unable to sit still, he paced before the fire in the great hall while Lachlan sat silent with his head in his hands, and Isobel, with Meg at her side, stood by.

“Four,” he answered in a voice rough with emotion. “Every man I sent out on this last patrol—their horses, as well.”

Meg swore bitterly, and her brother glanced at her. “Aye,” Dougal said, “he needs to pay. He will pay.”

Lachlan raised his head. “Aye,” he agreed in turn. “But MacNab has made his position evident, has he no’? Not a man comes or goes until your wife’s father arrives and this matter is settled. You do not ride out, I do not go home. You cannot even send a message to the King.”

“As if I would appeal to that trumped-up bastard!” Dougal fairly shouted the words, his rage overflowing. “I take care of my own troubles and fight my own battles.”

“And how are you doing at that, Brother?” Meg asked nastily. “MacNab has you in a slip knot. If you ride out with a band of men to meet him fairly, at arms, he will melt away and you will find no enemy.”

“At least that may keep the villain clear of my borders.” Dougal looked at Lachlan. “We will ride out at dawn—until then, let him freeze his balls off in the cold. I have fallen men to honor, and clansfolk to comfort.”

Isobel whispered, “What comfort can you give them?”

Dougal’s profile grew hard as iron. “All a laird has to offer—his vow to provide for them so long as I am able.”

A chill of apprehension snaked its way up Isobel’s spine. “Might you lose your lands over this? Could you lose everything?”

All three of them stared at her. Dougal pivoted on his heel to face her. “No one takes my lands!” he declared. “I may lose my honor, my standing, my head, but MacRae lands, where MacRae blood has been spilled, will remain. ’Tis a sacred trust.”

Isobel nodded. She had thought her father obsessed with the lands he oversaw in Yorkshire, lands that had come to him as her Scottish mother’s dowry, no doubt a throw-away entitlement on her maternal grandfather’s part. For, as she had come to see upon acquaintance with her husband, Scotsmen did not part with Scottish lands. The Yorkshire holding, profitable as it might be, had never belonged to her grandfather’s ancestors and was not tied to him by blood.

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