The Highlander’s Wild Flame

In this scene, Rory MacLeod is having to witness his brother marry the woman he'd met on the beach the day before.

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Rory picked up Gus’s leash and led him inside, unease tightening the muscles of his arms and legs as if, instead of a wedding, he was joining a battle. He rubbed a hand up the back of his neck where a pain was growing to match his sour disposition. The comely lass, who seemed to genuinely like Gus, was destined to end up in Jamie’s bloody arms. Hopefully, Winnie wouldn’t make life unbearable for her. Maybe he’d leave this very day to visit Cy after a dram of whisky.

Inside the one-room stone chapel, light cast shades of crimson and yellow through the thick, colored glass windows depicting saints. As people filed in, Rory breathed past the unease of the cramped space, courtesy of fifteen months in a small, dark cell.

Three rows of polished oak pews held the small number of guests. Jok, Rory’s best friend; Brodrick, Jamie’s best friend; and Margaret Harris with her husband, Theodore. Half a dozen MacLeod warriors also entered. The rest of the clan waited near the castle, preparing for the wedding celebration. The Macdonald guests were only warriors and sat or stood in the back. Not even the crone with the crows, who was aunt to the bride, attended.

Seraphina waited with her father before the priest, Father Lockerby, Jamie on her right side. His brother cast a glance at Rory, calling him silently to stand beside him. Daingead. So, he could witness the lass who’d invaded his lusty dreams the night before pledging herself to his brother. Perhaps ’twas God’s punishment for the pleasure he’d taken in the dream. Her trouble-seeking tongue was certainly at fault. He snorted softly, and the priest cast a frown in his direction.

“I swear before God,” Seraphina answered the question of her loyalty and obeyance.

“I swear before God,” Jamie answered the question of his protecting and providing for his wife. Love was not mentioned, so the two didn’t have to worry about lying before God.

Jamie gave her a kiss that seemed too long. Seraphina’s hands dropped to her sides like she was merely enduring it, and Rory looked away. Her father, the Macdonald chief, produced a quill, shoving it into Jamie’s hand, breaking the kiss. “Let’s sign the document so Father Lockerby can hurry on his way.”

Seraphina stepped back, and when Jamie took the book, she wiped the moisture from her lips with a look of distaste. Jamie and Seraphina signed their names. Rory took the quill, glancing at her flowing script. Even her name looked beautiful.

“Go on,” Chief Macdonald said, and Rory signed his name, handing the quill back to Walter, who scratched hastily across the parchment. The priest signed it, sanded the ink, and rolled the document carefully, tucking it into his satchel. That was it. Jamie was wed to Seraphina Macdonald, bringing the two largest clans on the Isle of Skye together.

Gus seemed to be the only one happy about it. He wagged his tail and leaned into the bride. Gilbert escorted the priest out of the building, hurrying him along by the elbow until the clergy slapped the eager man’s hand off himself to walk out on his own.

“Come along, Seraphina,” her father called from the chapel door. When Rory gazed toward it, he realized not a single Macdonald remained inside except Walter beckoning his daughter.

Margaret Harris, his and Jamie’s old nursemaid, hastened forward, hugging the frowning bride. “Welcome to Dunvegan and our family.” The still-spry woman gave her a genuine smile.

Margaret’s husband, Theodore, was one step behind her and engulfed Seraphina’s hand in both his. “We are a rabble, to be sure,” he said, “but committed to welcoming ye into our home and hearts.”

“Seraphina!” Walter called. “Now!” He was ordering her as if she must still obey him.

“Thank you,” she said to Theodore with a tentative smile. She looked like she wished to say more, but her father kept bellowing for her to follow him out.

Jamie laughed at a lewd jest Brodrick made beside him, not concerned that his bride was being ordered to hurry away from him.

The woman’s gaze swung to Rory, her blue eyes widening. She blinked, and her brows narrowed. She shook her head, frowning. “Something isn’t—”

“Now!” Walter yelled.

Seraphina’s gaze was full of… Was it fear? Maybe remorse? She snatched Gus’s lead from his hand. “Something isn’t right,” she whispered and pulled Gus up the aisle.

The wind blew in through the open door, the tang of smoke on it. Was it from the fields that they’d been burning all week? They were acres away from St. Mary’s Chapel in the valley.

Rory leaped forward before he’d even registered the danger, never questioning his instincts. He heard Jok curse behind him. Rory reached the door just as Walter Macdonald tried to slam it shut, but Rory got his boot in the crack. Gilbert stood beside his father on the outside with a thick log in his hands. Macdonald guards held torches, the flames twisting and dancing horizontal with the wind.

“Let me go!” the lass yelled out from somewhere beyond, and Gus growled, barking.

“I will finally have Dunvegan,” Walter Macdonald called, his voice booming, breaking through the rush of wind and sea. He grinned wickedly at Rory, and his men came forward with the lit torches.

“Gu airm!” Rory yelled in Gaelic, alerting the MacLeods trapped inside the chapel. Pain shot through Rory’s foot as a log slammed into it, knocking it back inside. Several toes were likely broken, but it mattered naught. The thump of bodies against the door preceded the hard drop of a bar across the outside. The doors had been open when they came up to the chapel, and no one had inspected to see that iron holders had been affixed to the outside sometime during the night. Bloody hell.

“Fire!” Margaret yelled, pointing above at the thatching that made up the roof. Darkness fell inside as planks were slammed over the stained-glass windows running along each side and behind the vestibule. Mallets nailed them into place.

The MacLeods were locking them in to die.

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