Highlander's Betrayed Princess (Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance)

by Alisa Adams

  Eilidh smiled and nodded. “Thank you.”

  Jean was not as observant as Iain to notice Eilidh’s beautiful nails and the soft skin of her hands, but she would always keep a close eye on how much money a person carried. Eilidh took out a small pouch and even though she tried to hide it Jean realized it had inside more that she would make in a year. Actually Eilidh could buy the whole place and still have enough gold to buy a piece of land.

  Iain took out a little pouch of coins too. “I will settle for both o’ us.” His tone was firm, but Eilidh shook her head vehemently.

  “Indeed you will not,” she stated, frowning. “I can pay my own way.”

  “But I was so rude tae ye.” He looked uncomfortable and she suddenly felt sorry for him.

  “And I forgave you, and you are going to give me a pair of your wonderful shoes,” she pointed out. “I will not hear another word about it.”

  “You can pay me later,” Jean said, winking at Iain.

  Iain nodded. He liked Jean, she was a clever woman.

  While getting up the stairs, Jean was trying to figure out why the girl had so much gold with her. “Maura, right? Are you from around here?”

  Eilidh would love to talk with her but she did not want to raise suspicion and she was very tired. “I live close but I do not come here often.”

  That was the vaguest answer Jean had ever heard, making her more suspicious of the girl. She showed them two rooms next to each other, small and dark, but spotless. As soon as Eilidh walked in she saw a black crucifix hanging on the wall opposite, and it made her feel safe. There were warm blankets on the narrow beds and the straw on the floor had just been replaced.

  Despite its lack of creature comforts, Eilidh liked it, and smiled as she looked around. “I am going to sleep well tonight,” she said happily.

  “Are ye comin’ doon tae eat?” he asked.

  Eilidh looked indecisive. “Will there be a lot of men there?” she asked fearfully. The last thing she wanted was to bump into her father’s men, but she could not tell that to Iain. However, her anxiety about being in a crowd of men was something he would believe.

  “Aye, likely there will,” he answered. “But if ye are hungry I will bring ye somethin’ tae eat from downstairs.”

  “Thank you,” she said gratefully. “They say things and sometimes—”

  “I know whit they do, lass,” he replied. “An’ I dinnae blame ye. Stay here an’ I will bring yer food.”

  “Is there a choice of what to eat?” Eilidh asked hopefully. Iain only just stopped himself from laughing as he looked at her earnest face. She was not jesting!

  “No’ usually,” he answered. “‘Tis mutton stew the night, an’ maist other nights, wi’ as much bread as ye like.”

  Eilidh smiled widely and clapped her hands. “Then I will have as much food as you can carry!”

  He laughed and went downstairs where Brian, a friend who helped Jean when she was busy, was pouring out ale and the occasional dram of whisky to the thirsty men clustered around the bar.

  As he looked around, Iain was thankful that he had not brought Eilidh down with him. The kind of language that was being bandied about among the men was not the kind that ladies should have been exposed to, and he was sure now that Eilidh was a lady.

  When he took the bowl of stew from Jean she gave him an enquiring look, but he only smiled at her briefly and then took the plate to Eilidh.

  “Who is it?” she asked cautiously.

  “‘Tis me, Iain,” he replied. When she opened the door, he brought in a wooden tray loaded with a plate of stew, two bannocks, and a pint of ale.

  Eilidh’s mouth began to water and she smiled at him gratefully. “Thank you!” she said, then put both hands on his shoulders and reached up to kiss his cheek. The touch of the rough bristles on her soft lips sent a strange thrill through her, and she could feel herself blushing. She felt breathless, as if she had been running.

  Iain watched her lips parting, and the flush on her cheeks as her bright blue eyes gazed into his, and he felt an arousal beginning. Her touch on his shoulders was light, and yet it felt as though it was burning him. He hastily took a step back from her and almost ran out the door.

  She realized at once that there was very little mutton in the stew, but there was plenty of bread, and she ate it very quickly. By the time she had finished she was full, and her eyelids were drooping. It was still twilight, but she was utterly exhausted, and even though she wanted to lie awake and think about Iain, she fell asleep almost at once.

  Iain had nothing much to do to while away the time, so he stood by the bar and chatted companionably about life in general before the subject turned to his shoes and the huddle around him found out his identity. Several of them had his shoes already, but they made a good show of complaining about them, even though they were all perfectly sound. Iain had just bought another round for everyone when suddenly there was a fearsome clamor from behind him.

  Three ferocious-looking men had walked in and one of them, the biggest, was demanding to be served first at the bar before everyone else. Dugald McFarlane was shoving the other patrons out of his way and his cohorts were behind him, shouldering their way through the gap he had made. The men he had knocked over were not warriors; they had no swords, spears, or even knives. They were just ordinary workers and farmers, and the despicable lout was using his size, strength, and weapons, as well as those of his friends, to bully them.

  Iain loathed such men.

  Presently the biggest of them spoke. “We are lookin’ for a young wummin wi’ long fair hair doon tae her waist,” he began. “She is dressed like a lady an’ is alain’, an’ she is gey bonny. Laird Mackie o’ Braedoon is offerin’ a reward o’ two hundred Scots pounds for any ane o’ yous that brings her back but anybody that’s hidin’ her will be in the Laird’s dungeon for ten years!”

  This was not true, but it made Dugald sound big and important, which was all that mattered.

  They all gasped. Two hundred pounds was a fortune, and a worker’s family could live on it for months.

  “D’ye a’ hear me?” Dugald shouted, taking out his broadsword. “I am Dugald McFarlane, the Laird’s man, an’ ye come tae me wi’ ony news. Ye hear?”

  No one replied.

  Dugald began waving his sword around him so that all the farmers and workers had to jump out of his way. “No one knows? Maybe taking a head will make the rest of ye think a little harder.” One of the farmers stumbled backwards and Iain caught him just before he fell on the floor.

  Iain had seen enough. He shouldered his way through the crowd and confronted Dugald, who was shocked to be faced with someone even bigger than he was.

  “McFarlane,” Iain said through gritted teeth, “have these men done onythin’ tae you that ye should treat them in sich a shamefu’ manner? Or are ye jist a big jessie that only feels strang when he’s got his pals an’ his big sword wae him? Say sorry tae these men or God help me, I will make ye say it!”

  Dugald glowered at Iain and let out a low growl like a cornered animal. “I willnae,” he said. “You say sorry tae me!” His voice was as low as a whisper but it throbbed with menace.

  “Make me,” Iain replied. “Withoot the sword an’ withoot yer mates. Man tae man.”

  “Dougie, dinnae dae it,” one of the other men said desperately. “This is stupid.”

  “Aye, Kenny’s right, Dougie,” the other man said, but Dugald pushed him away.

  Without a word, Dugald gave his sword to Kenny. He looked at Iain for a moment and then he charged at him. The crowd had all stepped back to give the combatants space and so that they could see better. They were delighted they could watch a fight! Iain sidestepped neatly, leaving Dugald, propelled by his own momentum. Iain was quicker than what would be expected from a man his size. Dugald punched across with his right hand but Iain dodged that blow too by moving his upper body backwards.

  There was a cheer and a toast from the crowd, but Iain knew that Dug
ald was not finished yet. The two men were circling each other. He watched Dugald and his men carefully; they were all experienced military men, and although he was as strong as an ox, Iain had only done rudimentary training for battle before he had to go home and look after his family. He did not trust Dugald not to stage a sneak attack behind his back as he walked away, so he was not abandoning the fight till he was sure that Dugald was completely unable to join in battle again.

  Dugald approached him more cautiously this time with his fists upraised, so Iain raised his own, but his instincts, always very powerful and usually accurate, told him that this was too obvious. Iain had been in a lot of fistfights in his youth, and he could see that Dugald had left his whole chest area completely exposed. He doubted whether a soldier of the Laird’s guard would make such an amateur mistake so he prepared himself for some underhanded maneuver.

  He saw it at the last minute. Dugald began to swing his knee upward to drive it into Iain’s groin, but Iain instinctively grabbed Dugald’s leg and pulled it up so that he toppled backwards onto the floor and hit the floor with his buttocks and the back of his head. Iain hauled him to his feet by the front of his leather vest and was about to give Dugald a hard right-handed swipe on the jaw when one of the guards pulled him away and landed a punch on the point of Iain’s cheekbone. He howled in pain and threw all his weight on the man, who fell over.

  Holding his hand to his injured cheek, Iain stumbled away, but just as he got to the bottom of the stairs he looked back to see Dugald being dragged away by his two comrades. His face was throbbing with pain, but he felt gloriously triumphant. He only wished Eilidh had been there to see him.

  It was at that moment that he felt a sharp pain in his temple and a wave of dizziness swept over him, then the room in front of him seemed to crumple up, and everything went black before Iain fell to the floor, totally unconscious. It took three men to carry him up to bed.

  7

  When Eilidh woke up the next morning, memories of the day before came crowding back into her mind. She thought of the hurt in Iain’s face when she thought he was asking for the use of her body in exchange for the shoes, and she thought of the way his eyes twinkled when he smiled, and crinkled endearingly at the corners. His deep, rich laugh made her tremble with longing and the rasping feel of his beard against her lips was the closest thing she had ever felt to heaven. She could have stood all day inhaling the musky, masculine smell of his skin and gazing into his eyes.

  Such a beautiful man, she thought longingly, wishing he could be lying beside her. For a while longer she indulged in a few fantasies where she kissed him, smoothed her hands over his naked chest, and heard his deep voice in her ear murmuring endearments to her. However, she could not indulge herself in lustful fancies all day; she had to get up, and the sooner she did the sooner she would see Iain.

  She had formed the first part of a plan in her mind. She was sure that her father’s men would be hot on her heels now, so she had to be inside as much as possible till all chance of them being there had gone.

  After she had washed, being very careful not to wet her hair, and dressed in her old rags again, Eilidh went stealthily downstairs. It was still early, and there was barely a sliver of light in the sky; in the middle of October the hours of daylight were becoming fewer, and darkness crept in earlier, so there was very little light for her to see by.

  She crept up to Lettie’s stall in the stable and kissed her nose, and she said softly, “Thank you, good girl. I will never forget you.” Then she slapped Lettie on the rump as hard as she could and watched her gallop away till she was lost in the darkness. She would not travel with Lettie anymore, as the horse could be recognized. Maybe she should have done that last night but if her father’s guards had come there yesterday they would have seen Lettie already.

  She had no idea that the guard had been there but left sooner than expected...

  Eilidh watched her faithful servant go with a heart full of sadness, but she comforted herself with the hope that whoever found her would have a gentle and faithful servant for the few years that Lettie had left. She hugged herself as the realization of what she had done hit her. She had not planned far enough ahead to allow for this; when she looked back she saw that she had never expected to get so far.

  But she had. However, what was she going to do now? She had brought a lot of money with her so she could buy herself a few acres of land, but she had no one to work it with her, or any knowledge whatsoever. And news of any new landowner in the area was bound to get straight back to her father. She put her head in her hands and sighed.

  Then she thought of Iain. She liked him enormously—but no, “like” was too weak a word for how she felt about him. She had only met him the day before but every single bit of her wanted him; he was a magnificent man in every way. She had no experience of love, so she had no idea if she was feeling it or not, and she thought that she could grow to love him, but could he feel the same about her? Could she make him fall in love with her? She thought so. But no, it was too soon. She trusted him and she felt safe with him. A piece of land with Iain. That was a dream! She felt that with this man she could do anything. Now, the seemingly impossible task of having a family seemed pleasurable. She did not care about the comforts she would lose. She sighed...

  Eilidh went inside where Jean had a big bowl of porridge ready for her. Eilidh smiled and thanked her, then looked around the shambles of the bar, frowning. “What happened here?” she asked, shocked.

  “I will tell ye in a wee while,” Jean replied. “Let us just say it wisnae pretty.” They chatted idly for a while. Jean asked her about her husband and family, and Eilidh discovered that now that she was in the mood, she was quite good at inventing stories on the spur of the moment. She felt like she could trust Jean and maybe lying would be better that saying vague things all the time. She had elaborated on her husband and given him a name—Donald—and they laughed because he was called Donald MacDonald. She told Jean that she had had a stillborn baby, and both she and Donald were still getting over the tragedy.

  “Please do not tell anyone what I have just told you,” she whispered. “It is very private, but you have such a kind face that I feel I can trust you.”

  “Yer secret is safe wi’ me, pet,” Jean smiled and patted her hand.

  Excellent, Eilidh thought. Now she is on my side.

  When Iain woke up, he felt as if an axe was splitting his skull in two. He moaned with pain and tried to sit up, but the pain was excruciating, and he cautiously let his head sink back onto the pillow again. For a moment, he could remember nothing, then suddenly it all came rushing back—the big red-haired man called Dugald whose boastful swaggering attitude had started the fight, and the satisfaction he had felt when he had finally floored him. After that he remembered nothing, but something serious must have happened to him to cause him as much pain as this.

  His cheek just under his eye was throbbing as if it had a heartbeat of its own, and when he put his fingertips on it he flinched and was not surprised to find a tender, painful lump there.

  Memory came back to him slowly, and he winced as he remembered the blow to his face and the thump as Dugald’s head hit the bar and then the floor. He wondered briefly if he had done any damage to the man, then he decided he did not care.

  He took a deep breath and stood up, groaning as another spasm of pain hit him. This time it was accompanied by a wave of nausea, and he vomited violently into the slop bucket by his bed. He groaned again; he knew he had to go downstairs but he did so very slowly, creaking down the stairs like an old man.

  Eilidh was shocked at first. The whole of Iain’s right cheekbone was swollen and there was a bruise around his eye that was a fetching shade of purple. His face had a greenish tinge and Jean shook her head when she saw him.

  “Whit are ye like?” she asked, and her voice was high with shock and indignation.

  Iain sat down and Jean fetched him a tumbler of water and put it on the table in front
of him. Eilidh thought it was the perfect chance to take care of him and show him how tender she could be.

  “Look at my tavern!” Jean cried, sweeping her arm around in a wide arc to show him the havoc he and Dugald had wrought.

  The damage was extensive, and Iain could hardly bear to look at it. Ale had spilled on the straw-covered ground making it slimy and slippery, a perfect trap for the unwary or the drunk to slip on and measure their length on the floor. Then they would rip themselves to shreds on the shards of broken earthenware goblets that lay scattered everywhere.

  There was a dent and a round bloodstain on the front of the soft pinewood of the bar where Dugald’s forehead had hit it, and a similar one on the floor where he had bumped the back of his head. Jean had left the overturned tables and chairs in the disarray in which they had been left the previous evening to show him just how much carnage there was. Several of the chairs had lost legs and a few of the tabletops were splintered.

  “Oh, my Lord,” Iain breathed, appalled. “I will pay for a’ this damage Jean, I swear. I am that ashamed.” He ran his hand back over his hair in a gesture of agitation, frowning.

  “An’ well ye should be!” Jean snapped. “This place is my livelihood, ya wee nyaff! There are sometimes brawls here, but never the likes o’ this!” She was fuming.

  “Whit aboot the ither fellows?” Iain asked indignantly. “Where are they?”

  “Ye will ne’er see them again!” Jean said disgustedly. “Wee Malky Boyd saw them ridin’ oot the village first thing this mornin’.”

  Iain sat silently for a moment. “Then I will undae the damage masel’,” he said firmly. Iain asked for some willow bark tea, which he swallowed in one draught. In spite of her anger, Jean gave him a plate of porridge to eat, and he handed over a generous sum of money that would cover the damages, pay for their rooms, “and leave somethin’ for yersel’.”