Page 5 of Highlander’s Ancient Vengeance

She shook her head and gulped in air, trying to recover her breath. “Not a ghost, Paw—a corpse! The corpse of Fergus McDowell, the man I saw yesterday on our land. He is floating right in the middle of the Cut, and he has a hole through his heart.” She burst into tears, but Kenneth gave her only the briefest of hugs for comfort.

He did not waste a moment, even to change out of his kilt into riding clothes. “Come,” he said urgently, grabbing Malle’s hand. “Show me where he is.” He called five of his best guards to go with him and they stormed out of the castle, reaching the Cut ten minutes later. Kenneth dismounted and stared at the body for a while, and Malle wished she could close the staring eyes.

“This was definitely no accident,” he said heavily. “And we know that he is one of Dunbar’s men. We will have to go and see him.”

“See Laird Dunbar?” Malle asked, her eyes wide with disbelief. “You mean to go onto his land?”

Her father nodded slowly, still looking at the corpse. “He came from the Dunbar side, so this affects both of us, and I must go to see him.”

When they approached the river Malle was still not sure about going there.

“Can you not write him a letter?” she asked. “They will not harm a messenger.”

Kenneth shook his head. “This has to be done face to face,” he replied grimly. “You stay here, Malle.”

“Indeed I will not!” she exclaimed, outraged. Before anyone could stop her she had urged Arthur into the water. It came up to his belly, but she was comfortably able to reach the other side, where she waited for the others to join her. Some of the horses jumped and some waded, but they all made it in the end.

Kenneth glowered at her, but he could not help admiring her fighting spirit. “We will talk later, my girl,” he growled.

Malle smiled then followed him. They had not gone two hundred yards when they encountered the Laird Malcolm Dunbar and Laird Craig Dunbar the Younger. Both men scowled at the MacEwan party, but they could do nothing to hinder them. They were outnumbered, since they were on their own land and had brought no guards with them.

“What are you doing on my land, MacEwan?” Malcolm Dunbar demanded aggressively. “There is no excuse for this! Leave immediately or I will call my guards and my dogs!”

“Did you have to bring your daughter with you, M’laird?” Craig drawled sarcastically. His eyes had been fixed on her since the first moment he saw her with the rest of the party. Indeed, he had not been able to stop thinking about her since their last encounter; even though his mind disliked her, his weak man’s body had other ideas.

“Is she scared to be without her Paw?” he taunted her. He saw her face darken.

“Enough, Craig!” his father barked. “We must sort out this matter. What is your excuse for being on my land, Laird MacEwan?”

“We found one of your workers in the middle of the Cut,” Kenneth answered grimly. “He has been stabbed through the heart.”

“His name is Fergus McDowell,” Malle supplied, looking straight at Craig. “Perhaps you would like to tell your father what happened yesterday, Dunbar.” She had deliberately addressed him in the same disrespectful way as she had the day before, and she saw Laird Malcolm Dunbar open his mouth to speak when Craig silenced him with a shake of his head. Malcolm Dunbar had the same fiery coloring as his son, but that was where the resemblance ended; although he was indignant for Craig’s sake, he was not so hotheaded, and he reluctantly gave his son the chance to speak.

He addressed Malle. “MacEwan.” His deep voice was derisive as he stared across the twenty yards of ground between them. He gave an exaggerated sigh, and addressed his father. “Poor Fergus’s horse jumped over the Cut yesterday and MacEwan caught them and chased them back here. She seemed to think he was up to some mischief, but I think she is making it up.” He gave her a challenging stare.

“And just why would I do that?” she asked scathingly. “Is there not enough trouble between our families without stirring up more?”

He glared at her for a moment then shrugged and spread his hands. “I have no idea,” he replied. “You are a woman. Women are not known for their thinking abilities.”

Malle screamed, not in distress, but in pure rage. She leapt out of the saddle and ran over to Craig, oblivious to the sound of her father and Malcolm Dunbar’s shouts. As she ran up to Craig’s horse, he dismounted.

Malle had not realized Craig’s sheer size. She had to tip her head back to meet his eyes, but she swung her arm around to slap his face; he caught her wrist easily, and stood looking down at her.

His eyes were a deep, dark gray, but they looked almost black with fury.

She glared back at him, and her fists were clenched with the effort of not hitting him again, but she realized that if she did it would only enrage him further, and he was a wall of solid muscle, so she could not hope to hurt him.

Kenneth tried to drag her away, but anger had given her strength, and she resisted with all her might, trying to shake him off, but eventually one of the guards stepped in to help.

“You are making a fool of yourself.” Kenneth’s voice was calm, but stern. “Calm down, Malle, or I will make you ride with one of the guards.”

Presently one of the nearby workers stepped in to speak. There was something about his dark presence that Malle did not like, but she listened to him as she began to calm down.

“M’laird, Mistress,” he said politely, “my name is Alan Bruce, and I may be able tae help solve the mystery for ye. There has been some kind o’ trouble on the estate. Onyway, this could hae been the reason they killed him, but he cannae come back an’ tell us. There is a gang o’ men somewhere on the land keen on stirrin’ things up, agin’ the Laird’s faimly an’ we dinnae knaw why.

“He might hae seen them, or maybe he was even ane o’them, but I doot that. The killin’ might o’ had somethin’ tae dae wi’ that or it might be a fight amang thersels. From whit I knaw, they hae nae mercy, and if Fergus wis ane o’them—an’ I dinnae think he was—an’ broke ane o’ their rules then they might o’ killed him. But Fergus was a hard worker and a good faimly man, an’ he has mony friends roon’ here an’ he will be missed. I dinnae knaw whit his wife an’ bairns is gaunnae dae noo.”

“We will take care of them,” Malcolm Dunbar said firmly. “No one starves on our estate.”