“These two ladies, my wife and her sister, need to hide within your cottage, with these three men acting as guards. You will be rewarded for your help. Do you agree?”

“Aye.” She stepped back and Keegan entered first. The only other person in the cottage was a young lass.

“Fraser, Boyce, MacMillan, protect them with your lives.”

“Aye. You ken we will,” Fraser assured him.

“Keegan?” Seona tugged at his plaid sash, and stared up at him with concern.

“You’ll be safe in here. Don’t fash yourself,” he told her.

“I’m not worried about me. ’Tis you that concerns me.”

“I’ll be fine, of course. Do you not ken I’m a warrior?” Forcing a grin for her sake, he kissed her lips quickly and headed toward the door. “Bar the door when I leave.”

“Aye,” Fraser agreed. “Come back in one piece.”

***

Oh heavens! Seona prayed Keegan would be safe as he faced her father and his men.

“I’ll stand outside the door and alert you if anyone approaches,” Boyce said.

“Aye,” Fraser said. Once the cottage door closed behind the guard, Fraser turned to them. “Have a seat, ladies, and try to remain calm. All will be well, I’m certain.”

Seona led Talia to a bench by the fire.

“What was this about you being married?” Talia whispered. “I heard Father shout married just before the clamorous noise in the tavern.”

“Aye.” Seona held out her left hand, the gold band gleaming in the firelight. “We said secret and private vows. Though Father may not recognize it as a legal marriage, Keegan and I do. And as soon as we can, we will marry in a church.”

“Oh, Seona.” Talia embraced her tightly. “I’m so glad you rebelled and followed your heart.”

“Aye, well, I couldn’t give him up. I love Keegan more than I ever thought possible.”

“He is a handsome man,” Talia said, then glanced at Fraser, pacing before the door.

“Are you talking about Keegan or Fraser?”

“What? Keegan, of course,” she hissed.

“Come now, sister,” Seona whispered in a teasing tone. “You must admit Fraser is a handsome man.”

“Well, of course he is, but… what of it? I’ve seen many handsome men before.”

“Oh, you have? I didn’t realize you were so worldly.”

“Cousin Genevieve had feasts and dances. I met a few handsome men.”

“Do tell.”

“There is naught worth telling.”

When Talia’s gaze wandered back to Fraser, Seona knew precisely what her sister was experiencing. Obviously, she was intrigued by Fraser, his tall, lean, muscular body. A blue-eyed, black-haired devil with a quick, charming smile. Any lass with eyes would be drawn to him.

Seona simply prayed her own blue-eyed charming husband would be safe.

***

Keegan joined the MacKays and MacKenzie’s at the top of the hill, all of them on foot. Rebbie’s pistol glinted in the sunlight. Holding targes before them, all the men formed a line, awaiting the approaching Murrays. Keegan fully expected bloodshed.

“Archers, ready yourselves,” Keegan yelled. “They could have pistols.”

As the riders drew closer, Keegan recognized Chief Murray, traveling at the front and center of twenty other men. Their numbers were about even. Besides, each of the MacKays and MacKenzies could easily take out two men.

The Murrays halted a hundred feet away.

“What have you done with my daughters, you knave?” Murray shouted.

“They are safe from you,” Keegan yelled back. “You should be ashamed of yourself, abusing the young ladies, leaving their faces black and blue.”

“They are my daughters and I will deal with them as I see fit! ’Tis none of your concern.”

“I made it my concern.”

“We all have,” Rebbie said. “I’ll be reporting you to higher authorities for violently punishing your daughters for no reason. You will find yourself in the tolbooth.”

Murray’s face reddened but he held his tongue. Rebbie was the only man here Murray respected and feared. Could he talk him into backing away? Murray slowly ran his gaze over each one. Abruptly, he drew his sword and brandished it overhead. “Kill them!” he commanded his men.

Keegan tensed, hoping the chief would challenge him personally.

A few of Murray’s clansmen hesitated, appearing startled by his words. Others pulled out their swords.

The MacKays and MacKenzies did the same, the swishing of metal blades against leather scabbards sounded ominous in the Highland breeze.

Two pistol shots exploded. Arrows whizzed through the air and thunked against targes. Metal clanged and horses neighed.

One of Murray’s personal bodyguards charged Keegan on foot, slashing his blade this way and that. A surge of battle-lust pounded through his veins, making him relish the challenge. Glad to see he was taller and outweighed his opponent by a couple of stone, Keegan easily deflected his blade and launched a counterattack. After a few more parries and thrusts, Keegan’s blade stabbed through the man’s leather armor and into his chest. He fell to the ground, screaming.

Saints! Keegan turned and noticed that three other enemies had already been felled.

“Retreat!” commanded a younger man who sat on a horse beside Murray.

Some of the Murray clansmen turned tail and ran, while others kept fighting.

“Are you mad, Malcolm?” Murray yelled at him. “Why are you not fighting?”

“Why are you not, uncle?”

Chief Murray charged into the fray on horseback. Malcolm simply shook his head and remained where he was. He was Murray’s nephew? Why was he not helping his clansmen?

Chief Murray struck two ineffectual blows at one of the MacKay guards, then directed his horse toward Keegan, attempting to trample him into the ground. Keegan leapt out of the way, then slashed his sword across Murray’s leg. The man yelled out. Blood saturated his trews.

“Bastard!” He turned around, his horse rearing and pawing the air. The more Murray tried to draw the animal under control and head it back toward Keegan, the more unruly it became.

Clearly, the horse was not a trained warhorse, but some fancy expensive breed intended for pleasure riding or racing.

The horse screamed and bolted.

Murray shouted, yanking on the reins. The animal bucked, tossing him into the air. Murray turned a flip and crashed to the ground.

“Saints,” Rebbie muttered. “That must have hurt.”

The old man didn’t move.

Malcolm rode to where he’d landed and swung down. Murray’s other clansmen ran toward him, a few of them falling to their knees around him. Others shouted. One headed back toward the MacKays.

“Halt!” Malcolm yelled, and the man obeyed. ’Twas a good thing or he would’ve been a dead man. All was silent. Still, the old man didn’t move.

Malcolm stood, muttered something to his clansmen, then strode toward Keegan.

“Ready yourselves,” Keegan told those closest to him and gripped his sword tighter.

The man stopped ten paces away. “Chief Murray is dead.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chief Murray is dead. Malcolm, around thirty summers with dark hair and dark eyes, had uttered the words calmly. Keegan had expected a mad attack, but nothing about this man appeared threatening. He had not drawn his sword or any weapon.

Speechless, Keegan eyed him for a few moments. “I’m sorry to hear it,” he finally said, though ’twas a lie.

“I’m not. The man was a monstrous bastard.”

What the devil? Keegan frowned and sent Rebbie an inquiring glance. Had they both heard the same thing? “Are you Chief Murray’s nephew?” Keegan asked.

“Aye. And his heir. I’m Malcolm Murray.” He approached and offered his hand.

Keegan hesitated, wondering if this was a trick. Watching Malcolm closely, he sheathed his broadsword but kept his dirk and targe in his left hand, ready for use.