Highland Mist (Druid Glen, Book One)

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An Excerpt From: HIGHLAND MIST

Copyright © DONNA GRANT, 2009

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

Chapter One

Highlands of Scotland

April 1625

Conall MacInnes no more wanted to enter the gates of MacNeil castle than he wanted to gnaw off his own hand, but for the sake of his clan he was doing just that.

"It´s a good time to ask them about Iona," Angus said as they rode through the gates.

Conall looked at his friend. "Aye. I´d thought of that."

The mere mention of his sister brought a spasm of pain. It had been nearly a year since her disappearance and no trace had ever been found. No thanks to the Druids he kept hidden. He pushed aside his thoughts and concentrated on the task at hand.

Angus grunted as they dismounted, his giant form standing taller than any man, Conall included. "I don´t know if forty of our men are enough to bring into this pit of Hell."

"It´s a peace talk. I couldn´t very well bring an army," Conall stated, though he wished he had brought more. He looked up and spotted Alisdair MacNeil´s lanky form walk toward them.

MacNeil kept his gray hair shorn to his neck. His light brown beard was full and graying slightly, but he still carried himself like a young warrior. His command over his clan showed when men bowed their heads and women refused to meet his eyes as he passed.

Not exactly what Conall would call a good leader if everyone feared him, but then again, MacNeil was known in the Highlands as a butcher who didn´t know the meaning of mercy.

"I was afraid you wouldn´t take my offering seriously. Many say you´re too young and foolish to come," MacNeil said once he had reached them. His hazel eyes roamed over Conall´s men as if sizing them up for battle.

It was on the tip of Conall´s tongue to say he didn´t take the offer seriously. "Lairds will do much to keep their clan safe and happy."

"Even to one such as me?"

Conall could literally feel Angus readying himself for a fight. "Aye, MacNeil, even to one such as you."

"But I have to wonder," he said, and paced in front of Conall. "Why? All the others have refused and challenged me on the battlefield."

"I´ve battled many a clan, but I want peace for mine. And if the price for such is to have a truce with you, then so be it."

"You aren´t afraid of me?"

Conall saw the surprise on MacNeil´s gaunt face. "Nay, I´m not."

"My soldiers outnumber your clan, but still you say such words."

"Loyalty is what counts. It wouldn´t matter if you had ten thousand soldiers if none are loyal to you."

MacNeil nodded thoughtfully and clapped him on the shoulder. "Come and drink with me. We´ve the finest ale around. And while we drink we can talk of peace."

Conall followed slowly. His gut told him something wasn´t right. He took in the state of MacNeil´s bailey. It was filthy, no children ran around playing or women talking in groups. The people wouldn´t meet his eyes, but the soldiers dared him to make a wrong move.

Brutality hummed from them. Conall knew it would be a miracle if they left here unscathed, for the laird may want a truce, but the soldiers did not. The quiet stillness of the bailey unsettled Conall. He was used to the chatter and sounds of everyday life at his home, not the silence of a graveyard.

He saw his men glance around warily. None were fools. The MacNeils had proven themselves time and again as the enemy, why should today be any different? It most likely wasn´t, but he had to think of his vow to his mother to bring Iona home. In order to bring her home he had to put aside his personal feelings.

"We´re here for peace between our clans," Conall reminded his men and himself. "Regardless of what the soldiers try, ignore them unless I tell you otherwise."

They entered the bleak hall to find it full of soldiers and a few women serving mead, but the MacNeil himself was nowhere to be seen. Conall´s guard immediately went up as he surveyed the filthy state of the castle and its inhabitants.

Old rushes full of bones and urine coated the floor. The women´s clothing was tattered and torn, barely hanging on to their bodies. Unlike the soldiers, whose clothing was dirty but not shabby. Candle wax hadn´t been cleaned from the floor or the rushlights. All in all it was a disgusting place to step foot in, and he was immensely grateful that his mother had run such a clean castle.

His eyes ran back around the hall, this time looking more thoroughly at the men. Most were in groups, giving him and his men a wary eye, but a few stood alone. Conall was a man to take advantages when they came his way. Now was one of those times.

He grabbed a goblet of ale and made his way toward a lad who lounged against the wall. As he approached, he noticed the lad´s youth and hid his smile at how easily he would gain information.

The lad looked up and immediately greeted him. "Laird MacInnes."

"You know me?" Conall asked, and watched him closely.

"Aye," he answered, and visibly swallowed. "A clan knows everything of their neighbors."

"So you know of my sister Iona and her disappearance?"

"Nay," the young lad answered quickly-a little too quickly-and lowered his head.

He´s lying.

His unwanted power recoiled at the lie issued from the lad. Conall wanted to bellow his fury. He tamped it down and prodded further, softening his voice. "Surely you have. As you said, you know everything of my clan."

The lad raised his troubled eyes and bit his lip. "I remember it being said she´d disappeared."

"But you know nothing else?"

"Nay. I must get to the stables to...ah...they need me," he finished lamely, and ran off.

Conall seethed with unbridled rage. There would be no truce talk now that he knew the MacNeils had something to do with Iona´s disappearance. Now they would talk of revenge and battle.

Although he hated to admit it, his powers came in handy in times like these. He took several deep breaths before he was calm enough to return to his men to tell them of his findings. Just as he turned, a flash of light grabbed his attention.

Swords. Drawn swords at that.

This wasn´t a peace talk. It was a trap. He whistled and threw down his goblet. In seconds his men´s swords were drawn. A blur of MacNeil plaid surrounded him. He raised his sword and looked his enemy in the eye, promising each a long and painful death.

The sounds of metal against metal clashed around him as his men fought. Out the corner of his eye he spotted Angus as he threw a brute of a man over his shoulder before plunging his sword in the soldier. In a glance he noted that all his men were surrounded and fighting valiantly.

With a diving roll, he ducked a deadly swing of a sword and came up ready to see his sword stained with blood. His blood cried for revenge, demanded revenge. Revenge for Iona. Maybe once his family was avenged then the helplessness that filled him would leave.

The five soldiers who surrounded him didn´t make a move. Conall studied each until he found just the man he sought. The soldier had a wary look in his eye. He nearly laughed when he winked at the soldier and saw his face turn red. The soldier raced at him, sword swinging wildly. With a swift downward arc of his own blade, Conall ended the man´s life.

The other four rushed him at once. He blocked a killing blow that left his arm feeling as though it were on fire, but he ignored the biting pain. In quick succession he sent two more soldiers to their deaths and turned to face the last two.

One of them backed away, and Conall turned his full attention on the remaining man. The soldier ran at him. Conall easily sidestepped and brought his claymore down to slice the back of the soldier´s knee. The man crumpled, screaming in pain, his sword and the battle forgotten.

Conall then found himself facedown on the floor, a heavy weight on his back, pinning him down. He spotted an arm and quickly rolled the weight off. One glance told him the soldier was dead. He sat up and found Angus standing above him.

"I cannot believe me eyes. What are you doing on the ground when there´s a fight, man?" Angus asked with a twinkle in his eye.

Conall rolled his eyes and gained his feet as more MacNeil soldiers charged. His sword was drenched in blood when he saw a man who wore no plaid but a leather jerkin and breeches stumble over a dead body while fighting a MacNeil. The soldier raised his arms, about to end the stranger´s life. Conall wasn´t about to let the man die, not when he was fighting MacNeils.

With a downward slice, Conall killed the soldier he had been fighting and leapt over several more before he thrust his sword between the stranger and the MacNeil soldier.

The soldier´s sword clanged into his. He smiled at the surprise on the soldier´s face before he twisted his arms up and around. The soldier´s sword flew from his hand and, finding himself suddenly bereft of a weapon, he turned and scurried away. Conall laughed and turned to the stranger.

"You saved my life," the stranger said, his black eyes guarded.

"I´m Conall MacInnes. And you are?" he prompted.

"Gregor."

Conall ignored the fact Gregor hadn´t offered his surname and held out his arm to help him to his feet. "Good luck to you. I needs find the MacNeil."

"I know who can tell you."

He looked at Gregor. "Who?"

"Her," Gregor said, and pointed to the top of the stairs.

Instead of wondering how Gregor knew of the lass, he simply stared. For the first time in his life he was speechless. Standing atop the stairs was a lass so beautiful she put sunsets to shame. Waves of dark hair flowed over her shoulders nearly to her waist. She was a tiny thing, but there was no denying she was a woman by her lush curves and ample breasts. Though the blue gown that clung to her nice shape was in better repair than the servants, it was still worn and faded.

He licked his lips as his eyes raked over her delectable body once more before he raised his gaze. Lips perfectly formed, full but not too wide, parted slightly as she raised her stubborn little chin. Her angelic oval face held no expression, but her big almond-shaped eyes were riveted on him.

"Who is she?" he asked Gregor.

"MacNeil´s daughter."

* * * * *

Glenna stared down at the battle, her mind frozen by the sight of the black-headed giant in the bold green and blue MacInnes plaid, swinging his claymore with one arm as if it weighed no more than a feather. The muscles flexing in his arms and bare back bespoke hours of training, and his quickness for a man of his size was almost uncanny.

His wide, brawny shoulders shoved men aside as though they were nothing more than weeds needing thrown out. Because he didn´t wear a shirt beneath his kilt she was able to see the hard planes of his stomach and the tapering of his waist. Long, muscular legs supported him as he pivoted and steeled himself for a blow.

But it was his face she longed to see more closely.

When his eyes met hers, she knew he would forever change her life. This man had her soul in the palm of his hands without even knowing it. He had to be the man Iona had spoken of.

Some unknown force kept her rooted where she stood and her eyes on the MacInnes laird. Even when he ran up the stairs to her she waited instead of dashing away, waited instead of killing him as her father bid.

He reached her and his silver orbs burned into her, his square jaw hard and unyielding, and hair as black as pitch tied at his nape. "You´re the MacNeil´s daughter?"

His deep, husky voice poured over her like water. "Aye."

"Where is he?"

"I don´t know." It wasn´t a lie. She didn´t know. MacNeil had fled after ordering her to kill the intruders. She hadn´t even had time to ask him exactly how she, a mere woman, was supposed to kill trained warriors.

It wasn´t the first time she had been ashamed of her father and she doubted it would be her last. After all, a laird should stay with his soldiers, not flee.

Two other men joined the MacInnes laird, one without a plaid and another with a bushy red beard. Red beard asked, "Is she lying, Conall?"

Conall. A good, strong name that suited this Highland warrior, as did his gray eyes, high cheekbones and chiseled features.

"She´s speaking true, Angus," he answered without taking his eyes from her.

Of course she spoke the truth. The urge to roll her eyes at the idea of her lying was strong, but she dared not show them any emotion. She had learned that the hard way from MacNeil.

"What´s your name, lass?"

The laird took a step toward her. The mere size of him would intimidate the bravest man, and she was far from brave. She swallowed, her mouth now dry, and tried to keep her expression blank. "Glenna."

"Well, Glenna, be a good lass and point me in the direction of your coward father."

She knew this was her one and only chance to escape from her father successfully. So she tamped down her growing fear, and hurriedly said, "There´s only one way to get him. Take me."

Those striking silver eyes narrowed on her and he took a step closer. "Why? Why would you willingly give yourself to the enemy to be used as bait?"

To be free she yearned to scream. Instead, she said, "You want revenge. He wants me. It´s the only solution."

After several heartbeats of watching him look her over, he held out his hand. "You´ve sealed your fate, lass."

Oh aye, she thought, and looked at Conall. It was the brief message she had been given by her only friend Iona that there would be a man to claim her who made it easy to hand herself over to him.

A man who would free her.

Those had been Iona´s words, and it had been those few words that had kept Glenna going through each day. Surprisingly, it hadn´t taken as long as Glenna had expected. Less than two months, actually, and she had been prepared to wait years.

She followed Conall and walked among her dead kinsmen. Hatred for the MacInnes´ men should have seeped into her heart, but instead there was nothing. An empty, numb void resided in her chest thanks to her father and the clan that had shown her their loathing. With Conall in the lead and Angus and the unknown stranger behind her, she was hidden from view. Conall kept a hand clasped around her arm as if he feared she would run.

If he only knew how desperately I yearn to be free of this he wouldn´t bother, she thought.

While they waited she counted the MacInnes´ men and all forty still stood, though most had wounds that would need tending. A low whistle sounded from Conall, signaling his men it was time to leave.

One by one they crept from the hall. She looked around the near-empty bailey and heard the call go up for more MacNeil soldiers. Panic seized her heart, and she wondered if she would be free from her prison.

That one glance was all she was given as Conall roughly hauled her up behind him at the same time he nudged his horse. Before she knew it, she was out the MacNeil gates for only the second time in her life.

"I´m free," she whispered into the wind, and grabbed hold of a rock-solid abdomen as the horse raced from the castle.

The men splintered into different groups to confuse the MacNeil soldiers. Soon they stopped and hid behind trees, waiting for the rest of the MacInnes´ men to catch up. Conall dismounted and reached to help her down. His gaze held her immobile as he slowly lowered her to the ground. Big, strong hands engulfed her and made her feel even smaller than she actually was. She hated being so short, but it had been her lot in life, and being next to this giant made her feel as small as a flea.

Of all the things she should be thinking about, this wasn´t one of them. She began to turn away and spotted the blood on his arm. "You´re hurt," she said, embarrassed that it came out so breathless.

He looked down at his arm and shrugged. "Don´t fash yourself. It´s but a small wound." He dug in his sporran and tugged out a piece of cloth.

"You should tend to it now."

He wrapped the cloth around the cut on his lower arm. "I´ll have it tended to when we reach my home."

She helped him tie off the bandage and stepped back. "You´ve touched me more in this short time than anyone in my entire life," she said as she rubbed his horse´s neck.

"People touch each other every day," Angus said, and moved closer to them.

Glenna didn´t say more. All her life she had been treated differently, and she needed them to think she was as normal as they were. She was saved from having to explain by the arrival of the stranger.

"Ah Gregor," Conall called. "Come meet my friend and clansmen Angus MacDuff."

Glenna got her first good look at Gregor. His blond hair flowed freely to his shoulders except for two small braids that hung next to his face, and his stance was that of a man who feared nothing. But his black eyes guarded much. She watched him saunter to Conall and noted they were similar in shape and both clearly over six feet in height.

Angus and Gregor clasped hands and Conall told of how he had come upon Gregor.

"What were you doing there anyway?" Angus asked. "The MacNeils aren´t known for their kindness."

All three men looked toward her before Gregor answered, "I was there on a personal matter. I owe you my life, Conall."

He had stated the last as if it pained him, and Glenna realized he was a man who didn´t like to be beholden to anyone. And though he smiled easily enough, it didn´t reach his eyes. He interested her, mostly because he had been at her home and she hadn´t even known. Just what else had the MacNeil hidden?

"You´re welcome in my clan anytime," Conall said, and clasped Gregor on the back. "Any man who fights the MacNeils is an ally."

Her mind raced at what she had heard from Gregor. What had he been doing at the castle? She had never seen him before, yet he acted as though he knew the MacNeil.

It wasn´t long before the rest of the MacInnes´ men surrounded them. They quickly saw to their injuries while studying her. Her chest began to ache and clench tightly as if a great weight rested there while the back of her neck began to throb painfully.

She looked up and spotted the looks of hatred and malice directed at her. Surely the soldiers couldn´t be the cause, but she knew in her heart they were. She had felt this pain in her own home, but it hadn´t been nearly this terrible.

Her limbs grew heavy to where she could barely lift them without great effort. Her breath locked within her lungs. The more she fought, the more excruciating it became.

Pain infused her body as she struggled to keep it from showing on her face. The looks ate away at her resistance until she had to lean against the horse or crumple under their weight. Fear nestled itself comfortably in her stomach and threatened to bring about the old demons.

"What are you going to do with her, laird?" one man asked.

She strained to tamp down the fear so she could hear his answer. Had she been a fool to take Iona´s words to heart? How could any captive trust their captor as easily and surely as she trusted hers?

"She´s my prisoner. I plan to trade her for my sister Iona."

Glenna gasped and tried to stay on her feet as Conall´s words sunk in and the blackness threatened to take hold.

Iona? Saints help me.