A Fearless Rebel Page 3

  It would do little good to argue. Instead, Ava nodded, studied the display and decided on a gown that was a pale green. “This one.”

  The family dinner table had eight chairs. Two remained empty. Across from Ava sat her brother and a member of her father’s council, an older man who had an annoying habit of talking with his mouth full. The seat next to Ava remained empty. Her parents sat on opposite ends. Her grandmother, who was visiting, sat at her father’s left. The only sounds for a long time were the sounds of food plates moving as they served themselves.

  “I am told ye found Graham,” her father said, looking directly at Ava. “How is it that ye were out there?”

  Her blood ran cold. If her father decided to lock her up until the marriage, she would not be able to sneak away and ride.

  “I was practicing at archery and went in search of lost arrows,” Ava replied with a practiced, even voice. “I did not find him. One of the guards did. I found the horse.”

  Her father looked to Alastair. “Was there nothing left in the area to show who did it?”

  Alastair shook his head. “Whoever it was had to have been hurt. Graham’s knife had blood on it.”

  “It could have been his own.”

  The men continue discussing the dead man’s injuries, not noticing that Ava and her mother stopped eating at the graphic descriptions.

  “He couldn’t have been dead that long if ye found him in one piece,” her father said as he chewed.

  Alastair nodded. “True. No more than half a day I would say.”

  “Could this conversation not be at the dinner table?” her mother finally spoke up. “It is most unpleasant.”

  Although her father was a cruel man, he always seemed to soften when speaking to his wife. It could be that, in her own way, her mother was harder than he was. “Of course.”

  “We must speak of the marriage. Have ye heard back from Laird Fraser?”

  Her father looked to Ava. “A messenger just arrived today. I meant to discuss it with ye both. But now that I am learning of our daughter’s inability to follow simple rules, I am not sure how to proceed.”

  “I do not wish to marry.” Ava didn’t look at anyone at the table. “I prefer to remain here and not be sent away.”

  Her grandmother snorted, and everyone turned to find the old woman had fallen asleep. “Get my mother to her chamber,” her father said as he motioned a maid over. “Now.”

  The old woman slapped at the maid. “Get away from me. I have not finished my meal.”

  “Yes, ye have, Mother,” her father said. “They are bringing ye honeyed mead to yer chamber.”

  Her grandmother lit up. “Then I must go at once.” The woman had to have help standing and then to walk out at an excruciatingly slow pace.

  The family continued eating in silence for a long time. Finally, her mother brought the subject up again. “What did the message state?”

  “They listed ridiculous stipulations,” her father said, waving his hand dismissively, “but agreed in the end to the marriage.”

  Ava’s heart sank. “What stipulations?”

  “That ye go live there at Fraser Keep, which was my idea, of course. Secondly, that I grant them some border lands as yer dowry.” Her father chuckled. “That land is not worth anything, but I suppose it can be hunted on.”

  “What do we have to gain from it?” her mother asked. “It seems to me they are the ones who hold the upper hand.”

  “A spy,” her father said. “We gain someone inside that will give me all the information I need to not only take over their clan, but also find out who their allies are.”

  Ava didn’t have to ask who the spy was. Her father would expect her to report to him regularly. No doubt, someone would be sent along with her who would take messages back and forth.

  When her mother’s lips curved, Ava wanted to get sick.

  “I wonder if there are families that celebrate marriage for the sake of it. A celebration of love and caring.” Everyone either glared or shook their heads as if she were daft.

  Chapter Three

  From atop the wall that surrounded the keep, Keithen scanned the surrounding lands. To the left, there were familiar wooded forests as far as the eye could see. When he looked straight ahead, there was a valley with a road leading to a large village. The air smelled of peat and moistness from the early morning drizzle. The haze was finally lifting aided by a light breeze.

  Autumn brought with it cooler weather and rain. Although at the moment, it was quite pleasant.

  A cart appeared on the road, heading toward the keep. It was probably one of the villagers bringing sundries for the kitchen. Keithen watched for a long moment before turning and walking to the northern corner of the wall. That area below was almost unreachable on foot, unless one was familiar with the hidden paths that only those who lived at the keep had memorized.

  He grunted in annoyance at recalling that someone had shared information about those paths. It was the only explanation because when they’d sent his mother and Catriona to safety during the Mackenzie attack along the hidden paths, they’d been discovered.

  Two mistakes had been made that day. The first was sending young guards to escort them and the second was not knowing they’d been betrayed by their own village constable. The man was dead now, killed by a Mackenzie guard. That had been anticlimactic, as Keithen had wished to be the one to deal the death blow.

  “Horseman,” Broden called down from atop the roof. The man pointed to the edge of the forest.

  “Probably the messenger with Mackenzie’s reply,” Keithen called back. By now, several archers had lined up and guards rushed atop the gates, everyone with a watchful eye in case others followed the man. As per their training, at the same time, guards and archers were alerted on the southern, eastern and western sides to be alert in case the rider was a distraction of some sort.

  The man arrived at the gates and spoke to the warriors who stopped him. They allowed him in.

  Keithen rushed to a narrow staircase and hurried down so he could be the first to greet the messenger.

  “Whose message do ye bring?”

  The messenger was young, but broad of shoulder and with a proud stance. He sized Keithen up. “Who are ye?”

  “I am the laird’s son.” Keithen purposely didn’t give his name. “Identify yerself.”

  “As I told the guards, I come from the Mackenzie with a message for Laird Fraser,” the man replied with a flat tone, his distaste evident in the curl of his upper lip. “Will ye take me to yer father?”

  If the circumstances had been different, Keithen would punch the man in the face. He wondered if perhaps the man been there when Catriona was attacked.

  The Mackenzies considered themselves better than everyone else when, in actuality, in Keithen’s opinion, they were nothing more than pack dogs who attacked the vulnerable and weak.

  Keithen turned on his heel and walked to the front of the house. Once there, he held out a hand. “Wait here.”

  He wasn’t about to allow the idiot in unless he was sure Catriona was nowhere in sight. His fears were realized when she was, indeed, sitting at a table with her mother, Lady Fraser and the caregiver, Flora.

  At noting his father standing next to the hearth speaking with an older member of the council, Keithen neared. “A messenger from the Mackenzie has arrived.”

  His father looked around him. “Where is he?”

  “At the entrance. I wasn’t sure about him entering with Mother and Catriona here in the great room.”

  His father nodded in understanding. His gaze moved to where the women sat, seeming to be chatting about inconsequential topics. Like the rest of the family, his father had a soft spot for Catriona.

  Just then, the women stood. Keithen hurried over, noticing immediately that Catriona looked away. “Where are ye going, Mother?”

  “To the gardens, for a wee walk,” his mother replied with a smile. They would have to go straight out the front door to
where the messenger was waiting.

  Keithen nodded and hurried to get the man and move him away from their path.

  He emerged and motioned the messenger to come with him to the kitchen entrance. Thankfully, the man followed without hesitation. Once inside the keep, he guided the man across the great room and to his father’s study.

  When they passed the front entrance where the messenger had just been waiting, the man looked to Keithen in question.

  “I would ask, but I suppose ye will not tell me why I was granted a tour of the keep.”

  Keithen ignored him.

  They entered the study, but his father was not there. Keithen knew it was done purposely to give the messenger a sense that his visit was not seen as important. This was done in hopes that the messenger would let the Mackenzie know that he was not seen right away.

  A maid entered and stood by the doorway to await any order for food or drink. Keithen looked to the young woman, who looked nervous.

  The messenger slid a glance to the woman as well and for a just a split second there was a flicker of either recognition or admiration in the man’s eyes.

  “Gilly, bring our guest something to eat and ale.”

  “I prefer to give my message and leave,” the messenger said.

  “Very well,” Keithen said and nodded at the maid. “Thank ye, Gilly, ye may go.”

  “I’d like ale,” the messenger then said, seeming to realize Gilly would not return otherwise.

  When the maid left to seek the beverage, Keithen met the man’s gaze. “Were ye there when my mother and the other woman were taken to Mackenzie Keep by force?”

  The messenger looked at him for a long moment seeming to try to find a way to respond. “Aye, I saw them.”

  “Did ye have anything to do with the attack on the younger woman?”

  “I do not have to reply to yer inquisition, but I will. I do not take women by force.” The man’s face turned to stone, letting Keithen know he’d not answer any further questions.

  At that point, his father entered and walked to stand at the front of the room. He didn’t pay the messenger much heed.

  The laird didn’t speak, other than to greet Gilly when she returned with the ale, placed it on the table, and hurried out, not once looking at the messenger.

  “What brings ye?” his father finally asked.

  The messenger proffered a rolled parchment. “My laird asks that I return with haste with a reply.”

  His father accepted the parchment and motioned for the man to sit. “I will return momentarily. Remain here.”

  Keithen followed his father out to the courtyard where another guard was dispatched to find the councilmen and bring them. “Father, how long are ye going to leave that man in yer study?”

  His father lifted and lowered a shoulder. The courtyard was bustling with activity. It was early in the day and there were chores to be completed. The clan prepared for a harvest festival that would take place in a few days. They would roast pigs, have music and celebrate the end of the harvesting. It was one of the last times people would travel from afar to participate since the winter weather would make it very hard.

  A woman hurried by with a bucket in each hand, a toddler struggling to keep up. Keithen went to her and took one of the buckets. “Why are ye carrying so much?”

  “My husband hurt his back,” she replied, winded. “I have to help where I can.”

  “The blacksmith?” Keithen asked, recognizing her. “Is he here?”

  When they got to the front side of the stables where a red-faced blacksmith worked, the toddler was screeching, tears flowing down its dirty face. The woman was crying because she thought that Keithen was about to scold her husband and Keithen was exasperated.

  He placed the bucket down and searched out the stable master. Together, they went back to the blacksmith, who watched over his fretful wife and child.

  “If ye are aware the blacksmith has injured his back, why is he working?” Keithen asked the stable master.

  “With the harvest celebration, we will fall behind in work…” The man looked properly chastised and glared at the blacksmith. “Why didn’t ye tell me about yer back?”

  Moments later, the family rolled out the front gates, the smiling wife guiding the horse toward home, where the blacksmith had been ordered to rest for a week.

  “I beg yer pardon, Keithen. I was not aware. I’ve been busy with the new horses.” The stable master shook his head. “He’s a hard worker and he’s scared to lose his standing here at the keep.”

  “I will see that someone goes to see them with food and an assurance that his job is secure.”

  For a long moment, he remained rooted to the spot next to the corral. He had no wish to know what the message was.

  He doubted the Mackenzie would cancel the marriage between him and his daughter, Ava. It had been the man himself who’d suggested it, after all.

  “Do ye wish to know the reply?” His father had neared. “He agreed to all our terms.”

  “What is he after? Why would he offer his daughter in marriage to a small clan who doesn’t wish for an alliance?”

  His father pondered that for a moment. “I believe he is attempting to quell the rumors that he had the young woman’s husband killed by sending her away here to us. At the same time, by letting it be known that it was his idea to allow the marriage, he will make it seem as if he’s now providing support for us through an alliance.”

  Rage threatened to erupt outwardly, so Keithen took several breaths. “It will be an alliance, Father. If I marry that woman, we will be allied to our worst enemy.”

  “If it will save lives from being overrun by him, then it must be done.”

  “However?” Keithen asked. “There is something bothering ye isn’t there?”

  At that moment, the messenger emerged from the doorway and looked around. He was flanked by their guards, so he’d probably asked for fresh air. Nonetheless, Keithen kept an eye on the man. If the messenger went anywhere near the young maid, Gilly, he’d put a stop to it.

  His father would not send a reply until he spoke with the council. This was a fact they were not obliged to share with the messenger.

  “However,” his father said. “I am reluctant in that an alliance could mean the Mackenzie decides to absorb us into his clan. How we’d stop it, if it happens over time, I am not sure.”

  “Dissolve the agreement. We are allied to Clan Ross, our larger clan relatives and perhaps we can meet again with the Grant.”

  At his father’s head shake, Keithen wanted to scream in frustration. “This will not end well, Father. The Mackenzie does nothing without a scheme to overtake and gain power.”

  “We will deal with it when it comes. I will never allow our clan to fall under any other. There is another way that I have been considering.”

  Keithen didn’t care to remain to hear the talks between his father and the council. Instead, he stalked into the house.

  He entered through the kitchen and caught Gilly by herself. She had been peering out the window, her eyes widening when she saw he’d entered.

  “How do ye know the messenger?”

  Her face turned bright pink, her cheeks reddening. “He was someone I cared for. We met secretly when we were both but a lad and a wee lass. Five years ago. This is the first time I have seen him since the day he promised to meet and did not show.”

  “Remain away from him.” Although Keithen understood young love, he doubted anything good would come between the slight lass and the man who’d brought a message from the Mackenzie.

  “I will,” Gilly replied with conviction. “Do not worry.” Despite the conviction of the words, there was vulnerability in her gaze.

  A part of him wanted to reassure her that if things were to be, nothing would stop it. Instead, he nodded and walked away. He went directly to Catriona’s chamber. He knocked on the door and Flora, her caretaker, opened the door. Her eyes widened at seeing him.

  “I mu
st speak to Catriona,” he said.

  Flora nodded and stepped back to allow him in. Catriona sat in a chair, her face turned to the window. Obviously, she’d heard him, so she was aware he entered. But outwardly, there was no sign of it.

  He lowered to a chair opposite hers and looked to Flora. “Can ye give us privacy, please?”

  “Of course. I will fetch something to drink, Catriona,” Flora replied and left.

  Keithen studied the room for a moment. It was a space suitable for guests with an ornate bed, several tables, an upholstered pair of chairs, and a fireplace that currently did not have a fire burning in the hearth.

  “Would ye like me to start a fire?”

  Catriona shook her head. “I prefer it cool.”

  At least she’d finally begun speaking to him, although most of the time it was no more than a word or a short sentence.

  “I went to the forest the night before last. I killed another of them,” he informed her. “Just three more are left.”

  Her hand fluttered to her chest. “Ye should not do it again. I do not wish ye to be injured or die because of it.” Despite her words, he noted she sat straighter. “I would never forgive myself if something bad happens to ye. Tis best ye stop.”

  “I cannot.” He reached for her hand, but she moved it away. “Understand me, Cat. Ye are like a sister to me. I could never allow them to get away with attacking either ye or Esme in such a manner.”

  “Do not hurt her, the daughter, Ava. She was kind. Saved me. Although at times, I am not sure I wish it was so.”

  Keithen’s stomach clenched at realizing that if he married the Mackenzie’s daughter, Ava and Catriona would meet again. “Ye know I would never hurt a woman.”

  She lifted her gaze to him and shook her head. “Ye must understand that it matters not what ye do, I will never be who I was again.”

  “I have hope,” he replied. “I know ye will. Mayhap knowing the men who dared to touch ye are dead is the way.”

  They sat in silence for a moment. Keithen wondered what she did all day. How she could bear to remain in the bedchamber day after day when, before, she’d been so involved in many activities.