by Victoria Zak
Once outside, Tavish closed the bedchamber’s door behind him and nodded to a man on guard and said, “’Tis done.”
Both men walked together down a long corridor. “Have ye sent a message to yer sister?” Sir Henry asked.
“Aye.”
“Good.”
The man stopped Tavish in mid-stride with concern on his face. “How are ye going to convince yer sister? She’s going to ask a lot of questions. She’s going to want to know why ye didnae call for her sooner.”
“Ye dinnae have to fash yerself over my sister,” Tavish reassured him. “I can handle her. All ye have to do is play yer part and we shall both reap the benefits.” He place his hand on the knight’s shoulder and squeezed.
“Aye.” Sir Henry nodded and they both continued down the corridor. “Ye know our agreement and I would hate to have to go back on my word if ye fail me.”
Over-confident, Tavish straightened his frame. “No need to think about such drastic measures. I’ve assured ye, me sister will be here. Trust me.”
As they rounded a corner a maid ran into the men. “Please excuse me.” She bowed her head and looked to the ground. “Yer guests have arrived.”
A wicked smile crept across Tavish’s face as he looked at his partner in crime. “Very well, Maggie.”
Very well indeed.
~~~~~
Conall felt an uneasy feeling churning in his gut as he and ten of his trusted men were escorted to the great hall of Caerlaverock Castle, and it wasn’t the stale bread and cheese he had for breakfast. His dragon was restless and on high alert which should have warned him.
It didn’t make sense why he was here. Clan Maxwell had been allies with Clan Douglas, even fought alongside King Robert the Bruce. Yet he felt on edge. Being that the castle was moated by stagnant water from the heavy rainfall, there was only one entrance and exit from it, which left the Dragonkine warrior and his men an easy target.
The Maxwell stronghold was a vision of wealth and power. Once past the twin tower gatehouse and cramped stairway, the castle opened up to a spacious courtyard where Maxwell folk milled around, carrying out their daily duties. Red sandstone bricks surrounded them and off in the distance he could hear the crying of larks.
As Conall and his men made their way through the courtyard, villagers eyed them cautiously. Conall had a strange feeling that these folk did not take easily to outsiders. One of his men, Broc, walked next to him with his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I dinnae believe we are welcome here.”
Conall kept his eyes in front of him, on alert. “Aye, Broc, keep yer sword warm.”
Broc was a younger lad of eight-and-ten, tall as Conall, built like a stone wall, and one hell of a warrior. Conall knew the lad’s family and he had taken Broc under his wing and trained the boy well. Confident, he knew if attacked, Broc would prevail.
The escort led the men into the great hall where a long wooden table stood. The hearth was blazing with a fire, and a kitchen maid busied herself placing provisions out on the table for their guests. “Help yerselves. The laird will be here shortly,” the escort informed them.
Conall couldn’t stop thinking about Effie. In fact, she had been on his mind throughout the trip to Dumfries. Each day he spent away from her he grew more irritated and that was not like him at all. Conall had a good head on his shoulders, for the most part. As long as he knew he had Effie, he felt like he could conquer anything or any man that got in his way. Eyeing his surroundings, he grew more annoyed by the minute.
Although the plan had been for James to make this trip instead of Conall, he couldn’t allow his best friend to go and leave Abigale alone and pregnant. God forbid if something happened to Abigale and James wasn’t there to defend her. It was the natural choice for Conall to go. If he rode hard and fast through the night, he would be home and buried deep inside his redheaded lass in less than a day. If he had his way, he would shift and be there in half the time.
He joined his men and was eating a few bites of cheese, when the double doors to the great hall opened up, sending Conall and his men-at-arms to attention. Two guards stood by the door as a few of Maxwell’s men walked in and took their seats. A man who exuded authority walked in and approached Conall. “Tavish Maxwell.” He nodded his head in greeting.
“Conall Hamilton. Me men and I are here on behalf of Laird James Douglas.” Conall nodded. “We are here to meet with Sir Herbert. We have business to discuss.”
Tavish scratched his chin. “Aye. Please sit.” He motioned for Conall to take a seat.
Conall sat across from Tavish and next to Broc. The young warrior leaned into Conall. “Something is no’ right here.”
“Aye.” Conall nodded. Indeed something felt wrong but he couldn’t put his finger on it.
“It saddens me to report that Sir Herbert won’t be joining us today,” Tavish said.
Conall felt this odd. Why didn’t the laird want to meet with him? Perhaps he was seeing to other business.
“Are ye here in his place?”
“Aye. I’m his son. Now, what business can I assist ye with?”
“It has been brought to Laird Douglas’s attention that someone in your clan has been blackmailing Clan Lockheart.”
Tavish sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest as Conall continued.
“The Lockheart’s, your neighbors to the east, are paying ye an extra amount of coin for protection when in fact the clan is already under the protection of Clan Douglas. This agreement between Clan Maxwell and Clan Lockheart was made after a significant amount of cattle had gone missing.”
“Och, when has being under the protection of James the Black Douglas done any good? As ye can see for yerself, our tower to the north was almost seized and now lies in ruins. I do no’ recall a Douglas running to our defense when the English tried to take our home.”
At this point Conall could feel the irritation stirring inside him. Not only was this smug arse a thief but a liar to boot. At no point had Sir Herbert requested Clan Douglas’s help, furthermore they had not been aware of an attack.
“’Tis not the issue at hand, Tavish. Ye can no’ blackmail the Lockhearts. They can no’ pay yer fees and they need their cattle to survive.”
Tavish laughed and leaned in, resting his arms on the table. “So James sends ye to keep the peace, aye? The laird’s messenger,” he chuckled.
With all his resolve, Conall held back his anger and the urge to rip the bastard’s head off his shoulders. The cunning, arrogant wee shite was quickly becoming a thistle in his backside.
“Tavish, replace the stolen cattle and stop the harassment or ---“
“Or what? Please do tell,” the cocky bastard bit back.
“James will have no choice in the matter but to involve King Robert.”
Hastily Tavish stood and his men-at-arms followed, causing Conall and his men to do the same.
“I have no loyalty to King Robert,” spat Tavish. “My allegiance stands with King Edward.”
This new-found information stunned Conall. He never would have thought that the Maxwell’s were backbiters. The tension in the air was thick and Conall could sense Tavish’s hostility toward him.
“And at what cost, Tavish? Was it worth the price?” Conall spat, disgusted by how easily humans fell into temptation.
“Och, the gains will fare me well, I can assure ye.” With that said Tavish placed his empty tankard upside down on the table. As if on cue the men on both sides drew their swords and stood in battle stance, waiting for someone to make the first move. There was no doubt blood was going to be shed today. Conall had hoped it wouldn’t come to this. Yet he couldn’t help but think that this whole awkward situation had been a setup.
Tavish pointed his sword at Conall’s neck. “Men, I do believe we have found my father’s murderer.”
Astounded, Conall took a step back. “Yer father? Murdered?”
“Aye, Sir Herbert was me father and he now lies dead.”
The doors to the great hall slammed shut, trapping his men in the room. War cries rang out and the sound of clanging steel echoed about the room. Conall was hit from behind by the hilt of a broadsword causing him to lose focus on Tavish.
If a fight was what they wanted then so be it. He wasn’t going to accept blame, nor be accused of a crime he had not committed.
Conall swung his sword around and connected with his assailant, stabbing him in his gut. From the corner of his eye, he saw Tavish making a mad dash towards the door. The coward was trying to escape. Running toward the exit and leaping over a fallen chair, he caught up to the bastard. “And where do ye think ye be going?” Conall grabbed the back of Tavish’s tunic and threw him to the ground.
With the pointy end of his sword pressed into the eejit’s neck, Conall stood over Tavish. “Ye know as well as I, I didnae commit murder. Ye will halt yer attack and allow me men to go.”
Tavish smiled wickedly as a Maxwell stood behind Conall with a blade to his throat. How easily could one’s fate change? Feeling the cold steel pressed into his skin calmed the raging dragon and Conall dropped his weapon. Though immortal, the only way to kill a Dragonkine was to behead them, so treading softly would suit him well. No need to lose your head, especially by a human.
Tavish stood and dusted his trews as if nothing had happened. He had the upper hand now. As he approached Conall, he unsheathed his dirk.
Conall struggled against his captor’s hold, yet the steel held him back. Tavish stood face to face with him and whispered in his ear, “Dinnae forget, ye be on my land.” The bastard stabbed Conall with his dirk then turned and faced his men. “Please show our guest our most humble hospitality and lead him to his room.” With his last order made, Tavish quit the great hall.
Stinging pain ripped through Conall’s chest and his knees threatened to buckle. God’s wounds! How was he going to get out of here? The only way out was to shift and quite frankly he wasn’t willing to take the risk. Too many people filled the room and would witness his change. Aye, going dragon right now was a bad idea.
He looked over at Broc as he was being led by two guards toward the great hall’s door; he had been badly wounded, yet was still alive. Most of his men weren’t that lucky; they had been brutally murdered. The future looked to be grim for the Highlander.
Chapter 5
“Och, my lady, I do believe the wee one has grown a bit,” Alice huffed as she bunched up all the extra material she could gather, which was not much, around Abigale’s waist.
Being as she was pregnant, Abigale’s belly was growing bigger every day, causing her dresses to be uncomfortable. If it wasn’t for Alice and her sewing skills, she would have had no choice but to grab a sheet and alter it to her liking. She supposed she could cut a hole for her head and just let the rest of the material hang where it may. At this point Abigale cared naught about appearances; she wanted comfort.
Looking down, she also noticed another body part expanding. Her bosom. Although it kept her husband pleasantly content at night, her back was protesting all the extra weight. Not to mention the swelling in her feet. Most days she was barefoot, for her shoes were too tight.
Everything was too tight. Her whole body felt like it was going to explode.
“Alice, I dinnae know what to do.” Abigale held her arms high as Alice fussed over the woolen fabric. “This babe must be a boy, I’m constantly eating. At breakfast I ate more than Rory.” She placed her hands on her swollen belly. “And half of James’s pudding. Alice, I’m going to pop!”
“Ye’d best no’ be poppin’ just yet,” said Alice. “’Tis perfectly normal, my dear.” Alice winked at Abigale.
Abigale Bruce, wife of Laird Douglas and daughter of Robert the Bruce, was with child and looked every bit pregnant. Her stomach was perfectly round and plump, her face beamed beautifully with joy and health, and she had the cutest waddle for a petite frame.
Every time Effie saw Abigale, she would be rubbing her belly as if she was rubbing it for good luck. She was happy for her best friend, truly. Yet in a way Effie had been envious. She too wanted a husband to love her as much as the laird loved his wife and to be able to tell the world about it.
Effie peered over at Abigale’s enlarged bump as Alice took a step back to view her creation. A wee babe, aye. Bearing children with the man she loved would be the greatest gift of all. Soon, she thought, verra soon.
A loud knock on Abigale’s bedchamber door brought Effie’s attention back from the clouds. As she opened the door in rushed two blonde beautiful wee girls. The girls had been abandoned and living in unsavory conditions when Abigale had rescued them from the village months ago. Still no one had claimed them and now the sisters called Black Stone on the Hill their home. The girls had grown quite fond of Abigale and James, treating them as though they were their ma and da.
Little if any information had been known about the girls. At first the eldest girl did not trust easily, but when she came around, Abigale was able to learn their names. Flora was the eldest and Annis was the youngest, though wee one fit Annis perfectly for a nickname. No more a babe, yet not a lass. A little person with her own ideas and strong personality. Aye, Annis was quite a handful. Though she had yet to speak, she communicated quite well. And her sister of course, her protector, had grown into a fine young lass. Abigale had guessed her to be ten at the time of the rescue, but was later informed that she was ten-and-three and her sister was six.
Effie was about to close the door when she nearly shut it on Laird Douglas. “My laird, please forgive me. I did no’ see ye there.” Standing over six feet tall, James walked in the room, filling it with his size and presence. Holding a piece of rolled parchment in his hands he said, “Good day, Effie. This came for ye this morn.” He handed the missive to her and walked in towards Abigale.
Effie closed the door and fumbled with the seal. Who could possibly send word to her? Unless, oh dear God, nay. As she opened the scroll, thoughts of Conall rushed into her mind. What if Conall was in some kind of trouble? He had to be safe and alive, he just had to be. Sending a prayer to God, she quickly flattened the paper and began to read the message.
Flora sat down on Abigale’s bed wearing a long face while wee one grabbed the extra fabric that was lying on the ground. Wrapping herself up, Annis danced around the chamber to a tune in her head. Alice finished with her measurements and began to clean up, when both she and Abigale noticed Flora’s frown. The ladies looked at one another and Alice nodded toward the girl, motioning for Abigale to go talk to her.
“James, love?” Abigale called out to her husband.
“Aye.”
“Would ye mind going to the kitchen and fetch me one of Alice’s oatcakes?” Abigale flashed that irresistible innocent smile of hers that always made James’s heart flip in his stomach.
“Didnae ye just eat breakfast?” James teased.
Abigale sternly raised a brow and put her hands on her hips. “I’m hungry.”
James huffed, “Aye.” He bent down and tickled wee one before he picked her up and placed her on his broad shoulders. “Ye’re lucky I love ye.” He kissed Abigale’s cheek and smacked her lightly on her bottom before he made his way to the kitchen.
Shaking her head at her husband’s way of showing affection, she waddled over to her bed and sat down by Flora. “What be on yer mind?”
Flora lay on her stomach, picking at her nails. “I dinnae understand boys. Why must they be so mean?”
Abigale smiled as if remembering a time when she thought the same about a certain stubborn Highlander. “Is there a particular laddie that be cruel to ye?”
“Aye, Niven.”
“Niven?”
“He’s always chasing me, pulling me hair.” She looked up at Abigale with tears in her blue eyes. “He even calls me names. Lanky legs Flora,” she mocked in Niven’s teasing tone. The girl sobbed into Abigale’s lap.
“Oh Flora, dear, do no’ cry. There’s something ye should know aboot the lads
.” Abigale brushed her fingers through Flora’s blonde curls, trying to console the young lass. It broke her heart to hear the girl crying. “What ye’re experiencing is being teased.”
The weeping girl picked her head up, sniffling through her tears. “I dinnae understand.”
“When a lad likes a lass, sometimes they have a strange way of showing it. They tease to get yer attention.”
“Niven pulls me hair because he likes me? That be the silliest thing I’ve ever heard of, hurting someone because they like ye.”
Wiping a tear from Flora’s face, Abigale smiled. “Aye. There was a time when the laird teased me.”
“Laird Douglas? But he’s kind to ye.”
“Aye. He is now.” Abigale laughed. “Ye know what I did?” The girl shook her head no. “I stood up to the laird and told him I didnae like to be teased and if he wanted to be me friend then he needed to be kind.”
“Did he stop?”
“Aye.”
“I should tell Niven to stop hurting me—”
“Or else ye won’t be his friend,” Abigale added.
Flora knelt on the bed and wrapped her arms around Abigale’s neck and said, “I’m glad I have ye to talk to.”
Abigale squeezed the girl tight. “Oh sweet lass, I love ye.”
Alice called out to Abigale, breaking their tender moment. “My lady!” Alice ran to Effie and caught her before she fainted and fell to the ground.
“Effie!” As quickly as she could, Abigale ran over to her. “Alice, sit her down in that chair over there by the hearth.”
Alice walked Effie to the chair and sat her down. “Are ye alright?”
“I’m fine.” Effie sat down with the parchment in her hands. The last thing she remembered was reading the missive, and then the room began to spin and her stomach flopped.
Her reaction to the message didn’t make much sense to her. There was no news about Conall, so he had to be safe. In bold black letters the scroll stated that she was needed back home and a man would be waiting downstairs to escort her to Caerlaverock Castle. Signed by her father Sir Herbert Maxwell. Home.
