Page 102 of Sins of the Highlander

“In good time, my dear,” Lachlan said. “In good time. But first, we’ll settle the question of your guilt once and for all.”

He lifted his sword in preparation for the strike that would take Rob’s head from his body. But as the blow fell, Rob dropped and rolled toward his sword. In one smooth motion, he drew the claymore from the cobbles and drove the blade between Lachlan’s ribs clear to the hilt.

A collective gasp ringed the bailey. The crowd watched in stunned silence.

For a moment, the two men were locked in a death embrace, Lachlan clutching at Rob, Rob gripping Lachlan’s sword wrist like a hound at a boar’s throat. He gave the claymore a twist. Drummond’s sword clattered to the cobbles. Rob yanked out his blade. A spurt of red spewed out like a fountain as Lachlan sank to rise no more.

Rob squared his shoulders and walked over to kneel before the judge. “Father, ye have a verdict.”

“By dint of trial by combat,” the judge said in a quavering voice of disbelief, “Elspeth Stewart is found innocent of witchcraft. She is free to go.”

Accommodating as a whore, the crowd roared its approval. They’d come for a spectacle, and by God, they got one. It didn’t matter one whit that it wasn’t the one they’d expected.

Rob stood. “Lachlan Drummond died without an heir. Release Lord Stewart. He and I will meet with the leaders of the Clan Drummond to help ye choose a new laird.”

The cheers that greeted this proved Lachlan Drummond’s passing would not be mourned overmuch.

Then Rob walked toward Elspeth, the crowd scrambling out of his way like sheep giving a wolf a wide berth. He held a hand up to Elspeth.

“And as laird of the Clan MacLaren, I’m choosing a new lady.” His eyes shone with love. “If she’ll have me.”

“With all my heart.” She accepted his hand as he helped her dismount. He swung her into an embrace and deep kiss.

The fickle crowd roared with as much enjoyment over this display as they had for the combat that led to the death of their laird.

***

Later that evening, Rob and Elspeth were reunited with her parents, and they feasted in Lachlan Drummond’s hall with Osgar Drummond, the good man named to succeed him. Osgar’s first act was to expel Father Kester, Mrs. Beaton, and the other false witnesses from his keep. Rob and Elspeth’s father admonished them never to show their faces on MacLaren or Stewart land again either, lest the lairds be in a less merciful mood.

As the evening wore down and wine flowed freely, the old serving woman, Normina, leaned to whisper in Rob’s ear.

“I ken where she lies, my lord.”

Rob’s head turned sharply toward the woman, but his hand gripped Elspeth’s more tightly.

“Yer lady wife,” Normina said. “A kindly lady, she was. If ye wish, I can show ye where she rests.”

“Go, Rob,” Elspeth whispered. “Ye should go.”

He brought her hand to his lips and placed a kiss on her knuckles. “If ye come with me.”

They said their good nights to their host and donned heavy cloaks to follow Normina into the night.

They slipped out of the castle by a small gate and tramped toward a copse of trees. Snow-kissed air washed down from the surrounding peaks, but there was a break in the clouds, and the moon shone on their path with silver light.

Normina led them to a massive fir. Protected from bitter winds by the giant tree, a cairn of granite stones lay in the leeward side. Frost glittered on the mound, bedecking Fiona MacLaren’s grave with pinpoints of light.

“She deserved better, my lord,” Normina said softly. “So I tend her resting place. In the spring, I’ll plant heather and holly, so even once I’m gone, she’ll still have flowers.”

Rob nodded his thanks as Normina withdrew, his heart too full for words, his gut all a-jumble. If Fiona was there, she’d be able to tell him what he was feeling.

“I’ll leave ye for a bit,” Elspeth said softly and started to pull her hand from his.

“No, stay. I want ye here,” he said. “’Tis fitting. Fiona was the first woman I ever loved.” He turned to Elspeth and cupped her cheek. Her hazel eyes sparkled up at him. “Ye are the last. And I’ll love ye, Elspeth Stewart, with my whole heart till I’m dust. Longer, if such things be.”

He lowered his mouth to kiss her, savoring her sweetness mixed with the salt of a tear. He thought it was hers but couldn’t be sure. The last hint of madness sizzled out of him. He was no longer driven, no longer tormented. He felt only peace and love and longing for more of Elspeth Stewart. She was the woman who filled his heart. Filled his bed. And, God willing, would fill his hall with rosy-cheeked bairns.

And from that place, where only love bides, Fiona MacLaren looked on and smiled.