Marion took a few steps back, pressing her back against the tree. Each of the men were quiet, as if they were waiting for something. Her heart was pounding so fast she thought it was about to burst out of her chest. She had never been this scared in her entire life—after all, she had heard about the barbaric ways of the Highlanders. But she wasn’t going to let any of them see how terrified she was.
“What do we have here, a young lass? And an English lass fer that matter,” said the man, Jack, who was walking towards Marion.
He reached Marion and she looked up at his face suspiciously. He was very tall, with curly dark brown hair and a serious face. His shirt was dirty and ripped at the seam, and Marion was wondering what the red stains on the shoulder were. Maybe blood?
“What is a young English lass doin’ all the way in Scotland by herself?” Jack asked.
“I am heading up the road, to visit my relatives,” Marion lied, hoping they would let her go if someone was waiting for her.
To her surprise, the whole band of Highlanders burst into humorless laughter. Even Jack, the man standing in front of her, flashed a crooked smile.
“Up the road, eh? Lass, there’s nothin’ up the road fer days. Ye must be lost,” Jack said, eyeing Marion up and down, which made her suddenly feel like he could see through her clothes. She felt the hot rush of her blood racing to her cheeks, hoping the men wouldn’t notice it. Reflexively, she tightened her cloak around herself.
To look at a high-class woman in such a way! Marion felt disgusted and her breathing suddenly became shallow, like she couldn’t take a deep breath to reach the bottom of her lungs.
Her heart was pounding and she had no idea what to do. The men had surrounded her, she was all alone, and they could do anything to her. They could kill her. They could shame her in the most unimaginable ways. She was terrified and all she wanted to do was to get on Bells and ride as far away from these smelly men as she possibly could. But she was rounded by the men, one of them still holding onto Bells’ bridle.
“I… I am in Scotland looking for my parents. I found out I am adopted and wished to find my real mother and father. Sir, you may be right, I may very well be lost, as I don’t quite know where to start. The only clue I have is the blue tartan in the bundle one of your men took from me. I’d appreciate him giving me my bundle and horse back, so I can carry on,” she said with a shaky voice, turning to look at Bill, the ginger-haired man who was still holding onto the bundle.
Jack turned around with a blank face, reaching out his hand towards the ginger man, who murmured something and walked closer, handing the bundle over.
“This tartan? Ye havenae much to go on, dae ye?” he said, pushing the blanket back in the bundle and handing it over to Marion. “Let’s take her to the Laird, he will ken what to do with her,” he continued, this time speaking to his crew.
The ginger-haired man, Bill, stepped closer. He was now so close to Marion that she could smell his breath that stunk of alcohol. She twitched her face while he whispered, “Jack, don’t ye reckon we should have a wee bit of fun first, eh?”
A flush of fear and shame filled Marion and blushed her cheeks. Suddenly, she wasn’t afraid anymore, she was outraged, offended. She didn’t think twice, and it happened like a reflex, she spit in his face.
Bill backed up, taken by surprise. He wiped his face on his dirty sleeve. “Ye may be English, but ye act like a whore!”
Marion took this opportunity to turn around. She was going to run, run until her feet couldn't carry her anymore. Anywhere was better than here.
But before she had taken two steps, she felt a big hand on her arm. It grabbed her and pulled her back.
“Let me go, you monsters!” she yelled, fighting back with all her power, which made no difference.
Jack lifted her easily over his shoulder as if she were a bag of flour and carried her towards the road. No amount of kicking and screaming helped. Marion was tightly held on his shoulder until he set her down by the men’s horses.
“Lass, we’re nae goin’ to hurt ye. We’re goin’ to the Laird’s castle, and ye will come with us. It’s dangerous fer a young bonnie lass like yerself to stay here in the moors. Besides, ye are an English lass in Scottish territory. Ye could be a spy fer all we ken,” Jack said with a gentler expression than before.
Marion looked around suspiciously. The men were mounting their horses now, as if they had forgotten she was even there.
“Fine. But I want Bells,” she said, pointing at her horse.
Jack chuckled, and lifted Marion up onto her white mare. He then grabbed Bells’ reins while he mounted his own horse and kept holding on to them tightly.
The caravan of six men and now one displeased English lady started on the road.
“Where are we going?” Marion asked Jack, who was sitting on a dark bay horse, riding in front of her and still holding on to Bells’ reins.
“To Gille Chriost, little lass,” Jack answered shortly.
That doesn’t tell me much.
Marion thought it better to not ask any more questions. After all, she didn’t care where they were going, she wanted to leave and continue her journey.
Wherever they were going, she hoped the Laird would be a reasonable man who would let her go. She had heard of the Highlander’s ways and barbaric fights with the English before. She had even heard of the women who had been at a wrong place at a wrong time.
Well, Jack and his men didn’t hurt me—maybe the Laird will listen to reason, too, Scottish or not.
The journey lasted for hours and Marion was starting to get too tired to be scared and worried anymore. She wasn’t used to long rides. Hunger pressed her stomach like a rock and she was thirsty. The men around her acted like she wasn’t there. They talked to each other and laughed loudly, as if Marion was just another horse in the pack.
Just as Marion was about to open her mouth and tell Jack she wanted a break, she saw a high wooden wall peeking around the bend. The gate was closed, and in front of it she saw two armed guards. They lowered their swords and hurried to open the gate as the band of Highlanders and Marion approached.
Behind the gates, Marion could see a tiny town. They kept walking along a muddy pathway that lead to a busy square. She saw women walking around with their children. Children were playing with each other. The women were dressed well, but not as well as they were at Marion’s manor. Their clothes had seen better days, and suddenly Marion felt very self-conscious about her own gown that made her seem overdressed.
The muddy pathway continued between houses and they passed a blacksmith. Marion heard the sound of a hammer hitting metal somewhere deep in the shed and she could feel the warm wave of fire coming from inside as they passed the open door.
“They’re back, they’re back!” the blacksmith yelled in excitement and ran up to Jack, who leaned down to pat his back, smiling.
Marion was sincerely curious about this tiny town so far from everywhere else. It was like nothing she had ever seen before. She was used to clean and fancy towns with many shops and well-dressed people. Instead, this town looked like it was inhabited only by peasants, who had never seen silk in their life. Regardless, she saw many smiling faces, as if they didn’t care that their clothes were dusty and had patches on them.
There were vegetable gardens, pig sties, chickens and geese running around, and further away on a small pasture, she spotted a herd of sheep.
She was looking around this tiny town that was surrounded by tall wooden gates. It looked as if the mountain that rose above them on the north side was watching over the village, like a hen covering her eggs with her wings.
On her left, she could see the castle rising behind the blacksmith’s cottage and the town’s market. It was built mainly from grey rock, and it seemed very old. Green leafy growth had taken over the outer walls from the corners. The wooden window panels were open and even the front door was wide open. It made the otherwise gloomy castle seem more inviting.
Ma
rion snapped back to reality when she heard sharp clanging noises ahead. She reached her head to the right, trying to take a peek behind Jack’s back to see where the noise was coming from. She saw two men ahead, fighting each other with swords.
Though Marion had never seen such an event before, she knew they weren’t really fighting. They were training. The yard was emptied around them and it was clearly an open space for practicing. The two men swung their swords in a fast pace and the men’s feet were moving so quickly, Marion found herself wondering how they didn’t trip over themselves. She had never seen anything like it and was completely mesmerized by the scene in front of her.
The young man was tall and dark haired. He was wearing a dirty white shirt that was halfway open, revealing a strong and muscular chest. The older man was now lying on the ground, defeated by the former. He had a long white beard and was wearing a thick wool jacket despite the warm summer air. Though clearly an older man, he didn’t look the least bit fragile.
The old man must be the Laird Jack was talking about. But who is the younger one? Maybe his son?
Marion glanced at Jack and decided it would be better if she talked to the Laird herself. She asked Bells to move up a bit, so that her horse was now standing right next to Jack’s big stallion.
She hopped off Bells and started towards the fighters. The older man stood up and dusted himself off. Marion took brisk steps towards him and curtsied stiffly.
“The Laird of Gille Chriost, I presume? My name is Lady Marion and I appear to have been kidnapped by your men. I would like to leave, if that wouldn’t inconvenience you too much,” she said with a hint of sharpness in her voice. She could have been half-way to finding her parents now, and this unexpected detour frustrated her, despite this wonderful little town’s charm that had mesmerized her.
The old man stared at her for a minute and then burst into a howling laugh.
“Me? The Laird? Lass, ye’re barking at the wrong tree,” he said and turned towards the younger, taller man, who was smiling a crooked smile.
The Laird of Gille Chriost didn’t look at Marion, but instead, spoke directly to Jack.
“Ye’re back. And in one piece,” he said with a sarcastic, but serious voice. He lifted his head and glanced at the band before turning his eyes back to his opponent.
“And ye brought a treat, I see,” he said.
* * *
Fionnghall chuckled to himself as this well-dressed, clearly high-class English lady spoke to Edgar, his sword maker. Sure, he’d make a great Laird, too—in another life.
“Jack, would ye like to explain why ye have brought an English lass with yer? Are ye tryin’ to get me in trouble?” Fionnghall asked, not looking at the woman dressed in red, who now looked a bit flushed on her cheeks.
He listened quietly, when Jack told him all about the little woman, found all by herself. Apparently, she was looking for her parents. Fionnghall felt a touch of sympathy in his often so quiet heart, but he brushed it away as quickly as it had come.
“I daenae care what she’s doin’. She doesnae belong in me castle. What if the Sassenachs find out she’s here? They’ll make our lives a living hell. Get rid of her,” Fionnghall said and turned around to walk back to his sparring partner, but Jack stopped him.
“Would ye really feel all right sending the poor lass back out by herself? Look at her, she’s not eaten fer days. She’ll be dead before the day is over. Yer of all people should know what it is like to miss yer faither and mother,” Jack said. No one else in the castle would ever talk to Fionnghall this directly, but Jack had known him since they were but babies.
Fionnghall pressed his lips together and pondered for a moment without turning around. He didn’t want to seem weak in front of his men, but on the other hand, he didn’t care to have this English intruder in his castle, a Lady or not.
Well, I guess a night will suffice. Jack will be happy and I’ll get rid of the lass soon enough.
“Fine, Jack, have it yer way. She can stay fer the night. But she must be out by twilight, and ye will personally escort her to England,” Fionnghall said, still not looking at the dark-haired woman.
“Deirdre!” he continued, calling for a tiny young woman who was standing a bit further away, looking at the newcomer curiously.
“Aye, brother?” she said as she swiftly approached Fionnghall, looking at the English lady from the corner of her eye.
“Take the lass out of me sight,” he said and waved his hand somewhere towards her.
“Laird, if you don’t mind, I’d rather leave. I will be just fine on my own, thank you very much,” the lady snapped and crossed her arms over her chest.
Fionnghall stopped and turned slowly to look at her in the eyes. They were deep brown and full of fire. She surely was beautiful, though extremely annoying, and she had a sharp tongue.
“Ye’re goin’ to stay. Jack’s right, I will nae have yer death on me conscious,” Fionnghall said.
An English lass in me castle. God curse Jack and his heart.
Fionnghall returned to his opponent, getting ready for another round. In the corner of his eye, he saw Deirdre taking the English girl’s hand and leading her towards the castle. A bit of a spitfire, she was.
The interruption had messed with Fionnghall’s thoughts. He patted his opponent on the back and holstered his sword, heading back to the castle.
Dinner was about to commence and he needed to wash up. Funny enough, despite the cold breeze in the air, his chest felt warm. He kept turning his thoughts back to the new girl, remembering how well she tried to cover up her fear, her blush giving her away. He cracked a smile before catching himself.
No need fer such thoughts, ye dobber. She’ll leave. Like everyone else does.
* * *
Marion was sitting in a small but warm dining room at a wooden table, nibbling on her food on the plate. The windows were covered with purple curtains and dozens of candles lit the room along with the fireplace. There was a painting hung over the back wall and two shelves were set next to the fireplace. They were filled with glasses and painted porcelain. Definitely expensive things.
The food was a bit strange, not the same as she had at home. It was plain and simple, but that wasn’t why she had trouble eating. She felt her ears burning, as Deirdre was discussing with her brother Marion’s situation, furiously.
After Deirdre had heard Marion’s story, she had been shocked to the core. She had promised to make her brother let Marion stay and look for her parents. After all, she didn’t have anywhere else to go. Marion didn’t particularly care for this rude Laird that had practically kidnapped her, but she had thought of her situation and deemed that she needed a place to stay, and the help of a Laird would be useful. Whether he was rude and vile or not.
“Fionnghall! What would our faither say if he were here?” Deirdre demanded.
Deirdre was a small and fragile-looking young woman with long, dark brown hair. Deirdre was wearing a purple gown and there was a thin golden necklace around her neck. Her face was friendly and sweet, and her eyes were sky-blue. She was, in fact, quite beautiful. Marion guessed she was a few years younger than herself.
“He wouldn’t say anythin’ because he’s not here, is he, Deirdre?” he responded with a stern voice.
“Brother, ye caennae send her away. She has nowhere to go. Let her stay and find her parents,” Deirdre pleaded.
The Laird was quiet, eating his food as if he hadn’t even heard his little sister.
“Brother!” Deirdre insisted.
“She’s not stayin’ past twilight, Deirdre, and that’s the end of it,” he said calmly, still focusing on his dinner like it was the best meal he’d ever had.
“Look, ye wouldnae even notice she’s here. I’ll keep her company and help her find her parents,” Deirdre said. She hadn’t even touched her plate of food yet.
Marion felt awkward sitting beside Deirdre and listening to the conversation. On the other hand, all she wanted to do was l
eave and continue her search. Every second she spent at the castle was one second wasted.
But the Laird and his sister might be able to help me. At least I could use their library.
When the Laird still didn’t say anything, Deirdre sighed and spoke more calmly, this time with a hint of a smile on her lips.
“I ken ye’re tryin’ to not back down on ye word. Ye’re afraid it would make yer look weak. Like ye have a heart. But what kind of people would we be if we sent her back on her own? And, ye ken I can just keep her out of ye sight. But if ye send her away, I will remind ye every single day about her and what might have happened to her out there on the wild moors,” Deirdre said indifferently.
Captivating A Highland Warrior (Steamy Scottish Historical Romance) Page 3
