Highland Sons: The Mackay Saga by Dawn Ireland, Meggan Connors

pain, nor did she bleed.”
    Murmurs started.
    Bane clenched his jaw as they cast questioning glances at Kenzie and her mother.
    Kenzie moved closer and turned her arm over for Bane to see. Pale flesh showed where the sleeve had been torn, but no mark marred the pearly whiteness. “McGowan stuck me with a needle, but though it appeared to go into my arm, I’d not felt any pain.” She lowered her hoarse voice to barely a whisper. “I think he does something with the needles. If you could search his pouch . . .”
    Trickery was in keeping with what he knew of the man. “McGowan, there is something I wish to discuss, but it is for your ears alone.”
    The witch pricker sauntered forward, a triumphant smile on his lips. “What will you offer for the woman’s life? You realize that on my word, the villagers will bind her again.” He raised his eyebrows. “She’s a convicted witch, and even in the Highlands they burn witches. Your men, when they arrive, would not interfere.” A sneer entered his voice. “Only my say so will save her life.”
    Bane waved the man closer, until they stood but a foot or two apart. “You’ll never win.” He said it so softly that McGowan was forced to lean forward to catch the utterance, but in that moment Bane snatched the pouch from McGowan’s waist, snapping the leather thongs.
    A roar went up, but Bane had drawn his sword and now held the point under McGowan’s chin. It was all he could do not to thrust upward. He threw the bag to Kenzie. “What do you find, lass?”
    Kenzie drew not one, but two needles from the pouch. Each appeared to be identical from where he stood.
    McGowan’s face lost its color as he tried to jerk out of Bane’s grasp. “Anton, what think you of the needles?”
    The smithy came forward and examined them. “They are of quality workmanship, but not truly the same. One has a ridge at the joining of the needle.”
    Bane glanced at Kenzie’s soot blackened face. “Test them on her.”
    “But Laird, I don’t want to—”
    “Do it.”
    The smithy moved forward, and gently raised the sleeve of Kenzie’s shift. Bane hated to put her through this, but he needed to prove McGowan wrong. “Well?”
    The first needle pressed against her arm caused her to jerk from the smithy’s grasp, leaving a red mark in its wake. He repeated the process with the second needle, but this one entered her flesh without a flinch from Kenzie.
    A gasp came from the villagers. With the points out, Anton held them up for Bane to see. “The second needle has a shelf under the dragon’s tail. When I press down”—he used his fingertip—“the needle slips inside the tail.”
    Anger erupted like the crash of the sea upon stone. The villagers shouted for the witch pricker’s death. Amidst the chaos, his men arrived. No longer arrogant, McGowan’s gaze kept darting around, as if expecting danger from every quarter.
    “Listen.” Bane’s shout rose above the crackling of flames, stamping horses, and outraged voices. “I’ll not have this day marred by the taking of a life—even one as worthless as McGowan.” He lowered his sword. “I have asked Kenzie McLeod to be my wife.”
    “Nay.” A panicked shriek sounded from the back of the crowd. All heads turned to Maggie, who started to back away from the hostile stares. Before she could go far, two of the villagers grabbed her and forced her to the front next to McGowan.
    Bane sheathed his sword and stared at McGowan. “You are no longer welcome on Mackay lands. My men will take you to our borders.” He took the needles from Kenzie and ground them under the heel of his boot. “I would suggest you never return. My leniency would not be extended a second time.”
    His gaze focused on Maggie. She was a member of his clan, but he could not allow her vicious tongue and manipulative ways to infect his people. “You will be taken with McGowan to our borders.”
    He lowered his gaze to where Kenzie touched his arm. “Laird, I know